


Chaos & Opportunity

by erunamiryene



Series: Codex: Sartoris Legacy [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Sith Era - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Humor, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Mouthing Off to Authority Figures, Mutually Supportive Relationships, Political Alliances, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Sith Need Fluff Too, Sith Shenanigans, Snark, Spontaneous Life-Changing Decisions, Will Not Be Following KotFE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:44:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 60
Words: 249,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erunamiryene/pseuds/erunamiryene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Book One:</b> Though Darth Nox and Darth Marr have had an occasionally contentious working relationship since her ascension to the Council nearly a year ago, they formed an alliance after Nox saved Makeb for the Empire, and find themselves in a surprising situation on Rishi.  What remains to be seen is how this unexpected deviation from mere diversionary entertainment will affect them, their professional relationship, and the Empire.</p><p><b>Book Two:</b> It is a time of upheaval.  Kryn and Marr are overseeing the restructuring of the Empire after the destruction of Ziost, determined to stop the mad former Emperor before he can strike again.  Contending with enemies both internal and external, they search out long-lost Sith secrets and tentative allies as they guide the Empire toward lasting stability.</p><p><b>Book Three:</b> Even as the Empire, now free of Vitiate's clutches, finds greater strength and cohesion, its balance is threatened by those furious at changes they believe threaten their power and standing.  Will Kryn and Marr be able to shepherd the Empire through these tribulations, or will everything fall apart despite their careful plans and best efforts?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a small liberty with Force sight - Kryn is a Miraluka - and letting her perceive colors.  
> \--  
> A Councilor's Second is normally a lord; they have the authority to act in the Councilor's name, and are responsible for managing the day to day affairs of the Councilor's office, though the details of their positions vary by sphere.  
> \--  
> Kryn is part of a large family of adopted siblings, taken in off the streets of Nar Shaddaa. As the years passed, they went their separate ways, sometimes falling on opposite sides of the conflict engulfing the galaxy, but family will find ways of surviving even in wartime. (Some of the back stories have been tweaked.)
> 
> Raitlia - human, no-nonsense, commander of Havoc Squad  
> Kryn'la - Miraluka, smartass nerd, head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge  
> Semiri - human, gray Jedi, Hero of Tython  
> Rafana - Rattataki, true neutral, the Ghost  
> Lysch - true Sith, more no-nonsense than Raitlia, Empire's Wrath  
> Zal'shana - Twi'lek, soft-spoken and agreeable, a little-known Shadow  
> Ca'ii - Mirialan, horrible luck with men, smuggler of some renown  
> Liinz - human with a fondness for cybernetics, queen of innuendo, hunter of bounties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You never know what will happen when you go out to the cantina in a pirate town. Kryn runs into someone she never expected to see in a raucous bar, and her evening takes some turns she could never have seen coming.

[1]  
It’s another lively night in Raider’s Cove. The cantinas are packed, conversations and music and brawls spilling out into the balmy night air. Kryn’la and the rest of her crew have been at a table in one of the more rowdy waterfront cantinas for a couple of hours when Andronikos leans over, mouth close to her ear to be heard over the din.

“Hey, that guy over there, the good-looking older one sitting at the bar? He’s been watching you for an hour,” he says, slinging an arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. “You should go introduce yourself and … get to know him.” He grins, cheeks flushed from the booze.

Kryn finishes her drink, leaning back to examine the man Andronikos is talking about, though she can’t get a half-decent look at him with all these people in the way. “Not that I’m turning down this particular challenge, but why?”

“Shits and giggles?” Andronikos shrugs. “It’s been awhile since I gave you a target, and I owe you for that cute little Pub medic you pointed me at when we were working our way through Revan’s camp.”

She ponders, absentmindedly running her finger around the rim of her glass. “I don’t know. I was just planning on relaxing tonight.”

“I didn’t want it to come to this, but,” Andronikos pulls out a credit chip and tosses it on the table. “I have credits that say you can’t get him into bed.”

“That’s playing dirty, pirate. You’re on.” She stands, giggling when she wobbles. “I’ll be back.” She slips through the crowd; a subtle gesture sends the woman standing in her way wandering through the press of people. Kryn eases into the now-open space as she gets a good look at the man they’d been discussing.

Thick black hair, silvered at the temples. Stately bearing. Square jaw, green eyes, well-shaped mouth. A scar, old and faded, running from the bridge of his nose to his left cheek. Most surprisingly, marks of the dark side around his eyes; she hadn’t realized he was a Sith. She makes a mental note to commend Andronikos on his good taste. “Pardon me, is this seat taken?”

The man's reply is quick, but not impolite. “No.” He hooks a foot around the leg of the barstool and pulls it out for her. “Please, sit."

Kryn can’t help but raise an eyebrow when Marr speaks, suddenly unsure if she wants to win or lose the bet as she settles onto the stool. She leans closer to be heard. “And here I always heard you were an absolute monstrosity under that mask,” she drawls, increasingly amused at the situation. “Didn’t your face make someone commit suicide?”

“A useful fiction,” he says as he motions to the bartender. “Aren’t you the prophet of some cult on Nar Shaddaa?”

“Now that’s going back quite far,” she grins. “I wasn’t aware you even knew who I was at that point.”

“I considered it prudent to know who I was putting on the Council,” he says, affronted. 

She laughs outright. “All right, all right. Enough with ….” She gestures at him. “That face you’re making. Try to relax; I promise, it’s not so bad.” 

The bartender approaches them, pitcher in hand, as Andronikos appears at her elbow. “Hey, Sith. Just picking up another pitcher. You gonna be over here? Ashara wants to clean us out some more.”

Marr sits back to inspect Kryn more closely as she turns to talk to Andronikos. She’s eschewed anything remotely marking her as Sith this evening, opting instead for a simple black tunic and trousers, fitted enough that he’s once again noticing things he shouldn’t be noticing about her. Her hair, loosely piled on her head, looks like banked embers in the low light of the cantina. He pulls his attention away from her when he realizes they’re nearly done talking. 

“Throwing me to the wolves, eh? Well, you two have fun!” Andronikos winks and melts back into the crowd, pitcher in hand.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, turning to them.

“Ilosian ale,” Kryn says with no hesitation.

Marr nods. “I’ll have the same.” As the bartender departs, he looks toward where Kryn had been sitting. “Do you need to get back?”

“No, it’s fine. Besides, I doubt,” she pauses, considering how to phrase what she wants to say, “hanging out in a cantina with you is likely to ever happen again. I’d prefer to take full advantage of it.”

He narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come now, don’t give me that look.” She nudges his shoulder, her voice chiding. “We’re allied, are we not? Have been for some time? Let’s ignore all that pesky Sith paranoia, at least for tonight. Our aims align; I have no reason to endanger that, and neither do you.”

“That’s a surprisingly pragmatic view of things. I wasn’t aware that such reasoned judgments were your style.”

She shakes her head. “Of course you were. I’m just not as staid as you, so you think I’m a loose cannon. Full blown psychosis tends to get in the way of getting things done.” A grin lights her face. “And gets in the way of having fun.”

“I’m rarely in the business of fun,” he says, folding his arms.

“See, this right here? This is why I give you such a hard time.” She smirks. “It’s understandable, though. Seems like too many Sith either can’t comprehend fun at all, or think it means strangling someone with their own intestines or something.”

“That’s only for special occasions,” he says dryly, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Was that a joke?” She laughs outright. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“There is a little more to my personality than, how is it you always phrase it? Being old and grouchy.” He takes one of the ales, hands it to her. “Here, this will help lessen the shock.” As Kryn takes it, he shrugs. “Have to keep you on your toes, after all. Now, I can’t sit here calling you Nox -”

“And why not? You think anyone in Raider’s Cove knows who we are by name?” She tips up her mug. “And if they do and want to start something, it won’t be hard for us to finish it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you _want_ a bar fight.”

“I don’t know that I’d say I want one, but if someone starts one,” she chuckles, low and throaty, “I’m not going to hesitate to finish it.” 

Looking over the rim of his glass, he scrutinizes her for a long moment. “Is this how you do everything? Just … winging it?”

“Pretty much.” She laughs at the look on his face. “Not your preferred method?”

He shakes his head. “I think we can agree that winging it is anathema to the Imperial military.” There’s a pause as he considers what he wants to say. “This has been quite the … interesting partnership so far, Nox.”

“And it can only get better from here.” She raises her glass. “ A toast to keeping things interesting.”

He clinks his glass against hers. “To keeping things interesting … and perhaps leaving our comfort zones.”

[2]  
A few hours and quite a few drinks later, they’re creeping through the Rishi jungle … or at least, attempting to. A smoking, crumpled speeder lays at the foot of a tree behind them.

“Stop stomping through the brush, Nox! You’re going to scare them all off.” Marr’s whisper is barely a whisper, far closer to his normal speaking voice than he realizes.

“If anyone’s stomping, it’s you,” Kryn whispers back just as loudly. “I am small and lithe, thank you very much.” She trips over a branch and bumps into him, swatting at his arm when he snorts in derision. “More lithe than you, anyway. Of course, most of them probably scampered when you piloted the speeder into that tree.”

He rolls his eyes. “How many times do I have to apologize for that?” he gripes. “I said I was sorry when we crashed.”

“Until I’m -” She looks up as there’s an explosion of noise from the bushes closest to them. “Blazes, there it goes!” she shouts as the tonitran races away. She slumps back against a tree laughing. “That’s the fifth one we’ve scared off. Now what are we -”

A voice booms out of the darkness, interrupting her. “Well, well! What have we here?”

“Hey Stak, isn’t that the Howling Tempest leader?” asks another as the group of pirates materializes out of the darkness.

“Indeed it is, Jak! Silene’ll shower us in treasure if we bring her this upstart’s head.”

Marr leans toward Kryn. “Howling Tempest leader? When did you become a pirate?”

“Long story, I’ll tell you later.” She shakes her head, a vicious smile on her face. Dark energy crackles around her. “Come and claim it, if you can!” A sudden burst, and the group is flying backward as lightning gathers around her hands.

Crimson light blazes next to her as Marr ignites his lightsaber. He leaps after the leader with a roar, crashing into the midst of the pirates. Kryn shoots lightning at a group of three; it jumps between them, leaves them twitching. Marr flings his lightsaber at them, felling them as he boots an approaching assailant away. His saber returns to his hand as she encases him in a shimmering violet shield. With a gesture, a swirling tempest appears over him, rapidly electrocuting the remaining unlucky pirates. 

“And here I thought the evening would be disappointing,” Marr says, deactivating his lightsaber and reattaching it to his belt, “when I realized we were far too drunk to successfully ride a tonitran.” He laughs, the sound deep and rich and slightly rusty from lack of use, when he realizes he's having a far better time than he could have imagined.

Kryn’s hands pause in the midst of smoothing out her hair, fighting to focus through an unexpected wave of desire. All of a sudden she’s absolutely sure that she wants to win that bet with Andronikos, and wonders how she can best go about it. “Surely you didn’t think riding a jungle lizard would be the _most_ exciting thing to happen while you were out carousing with me,” she finally replies, hoping she hit the right mix of casual and enticing.

His heart pounds as he eyes her sardonic smile and the way her tunic hugs her torso. He’s rarely spontaneous, but the adrenaline from the fight - and the alcohol - is making everything seem like a great idea, and he’s no longer interested in keeping his distance. _What harm is there in one night?_ “A mistake I won’t repeat,” he says, closing the space between them in short order. He backs her up against the nearest tree, bends down, and claims her mouth, the kiss insistent as he wraps an arm around her.

She responds instantly, going on tiptoes to press herself against him, threading her fingers through his hair. “As delighted as I am that this is happening, it is _not_ happening in the middle of the jungle,” she murmurs against his mouth.

“But we’re already here.” One hand slips up under her tunic, rough against her skin. “No one else is.” The other makes quick work of the pins in her hair, sending the red locks cascading down her back. “And if more pirates show up, we wouldn’t even have to stop. You could just electrocute them.”

“Sex and mayhem at the same time is incredibly appealing,” she agrees, hooking fingers into his belt loops to pull him against her, “but this jungle smells appalling. Perhaps we ought to save that for next time.” She tilts her head back as he moves to her throat. “And a more agreeable location.”

“Mm, next time,” he rumbles before nipping at her. “We haven’t had a first time yet and I’m already intrigued. Your ship?”

“Too crowded. Yours?”

“Let’s go.”

[3]  
Kryn isn’t quite sure how they got from the Rishi jungle to Marr’s shuttle. She also isn’t quite sure she cares.

One thing she is sure of is how _warm_ he is: his hands, his mouth, his body. The heat in his eyes and in the insistence of every touch. He’s warm and he smells good and he’s kissing her like there is nothing else in the entire galaxy he’d rather be doing. He kisses her like he’s thought about it for months. He kisses her with the sort of passion she’s always telling him he clearly doesn’t have.

The shuttle door closes behind them and he pulls her from around his waist, easily splitting her tunic in two with a slight movement of his hands. He drops into a crouch and her trousers follow suit, buttons flying as he tugs them downward. His eyes roam over her bared skin as he stands, hunger plain on his face, watching her discard the functionally useless clothing.

Kryn just can’t help herself. “Now,” she says, hand settling onto her cocked hip, “I know you’re old and you don’t really believe in fun, so don’t feel obliged to over-exert yourself.”

Her mouth quirks in that infuriating smirk of hers, and he _knows_ she’s goading him, but under the familiar flare of irritation is thrumming desire, a growing need to make her eat those words, to finally unravel her unflappable exterior. He pulls his tunic off over his head one-handed, not missing how she stifles a gasp when he does, and tosses it aside. “I’ll be sure not to.”

He’s aching for her already, the pressure at the base of his spine clamoring for attention, his cock stretching the fabric of his trousers. He ignores all this, instead cupping her small, perfect breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs until the smirk slides off her face and her breath comes shallowly, until she’s leaning into his hands as she trails her fingernails along his skin.

She pulls herself away from the curving muscles in his arms and turns her attention to his trousers. “We have all night. Quit stalling.” One eyebrow arches. “Unless you have a reason for stalling? Talk a big game, can’t back it up?”

He reluctantly lifts his hands off her breasts and turns his palms up. “I think you’ll find I’m more than equipped for the task at hand,” he deadpans. This brash arrogance is unlike him, but he’s let her have her fun, tolerating her flagrant, smirking insubordination on Dromund Kaas. Now that they’re alone he’s going to return it in spades.

Her face lights up when she shoves his trousers down past his ass, wrapping her fingers oh so slowly around his cock. “You certainly are, aren’t you?” She tilts her head up to look at him, licking her lips. He cups her ass and lifts her up; she wraps her legs around him as her hand steals between them, fitting him to her, resisting the urge to take all of him at once.

“You know, I’m still waiting to see some of your famed aggression and authority, Darth Marr. Aren’t you -”

He captures her mouth in a bruising kiss. “That’s quite enough out of you, Nox,” he growls. “Do you _ever_ stop?”

She grins, utterly unintimidated. “You haven’t been able to shut me up yet. Is tonight your -” 

_Lucky night_ , she means to say, but he pivots and takes two steps, slamming her back into the wall and burying himself in her nearly simultaneously. She moans before she captures the skin of his throat between her teeth, biting down until his fingers tighten on her hips and her name is a rumble in the back of his throat.

He’s determined to keep the upper hand; every time she opens her mouth he does something different: changes his rhythm, squeezes her breasts, stops her words as his tongue sweeps past her eagerly parted lips. It’s never _just_ a kiss. Every kiss deepens, every kiss makes fire race through his veins, every kiss makes her hum with pleasure. 

She rakes her hands into his hair and it’s been so long since someone’s done _that_ that he’s taken off-guard, groaning aloud when she balls her hands into fists. She snaps her hips against his, rhythm gone and subsumed by keening need. 

“I ….” She trails off, tensing against him, and then she’s clinging to him, fingernails raking scratches down his back, her wordless cry piercing in the near silence. He shudders the first time she tightens around him, but the second is too much to withstand, his shout of completion muffled in her hair as he braces an arm above her head, shaking with aftershocks.

She’s still panting when she gives him that brilliant grin he’d been admiring in the cantina earlier. “Goading you is -” she pauses to take a breath, “a hell of a lot more fun on Rishi, Marr. Maybe we’d have been getting along better if you’d done this in the Citadel.”

“Mm-hmm.” He brushes a curl back off her forehead. “I hope you don’t think we’re finished.” He tells himself it’s the booze talking, the booze that hasn’t had enough of her, the booze that wants her slack and sated in his arms.

“You’d never hear the end of it if we were, and you know it.”

[4]  
Continuing the trend of not being quite sure what happened, Kryn’s also not sure what they did to the small couch, but something cracked and now it’s canted backward … though really, it’s what _he_ did to the small couch. He’s the one who tossed her onto it, the one who flipped her over, dragging his fingers along the valley of her spine as he hilted himself in her again. He’s the one that’s practically reduced her to a ragdoll, his vaunted self-control cast aside, her tunic functioning as a makeshift gag, not that it’s really muffling much at this point. Her back is arched, nails digging into his thighs as he fucks her, and his muscles shifting under her grip is almost more than she can handle. She can feel him holding back, teetering on a razor edge, and she flings the gag away, looking over her shoulder at him. “You flagging?”

His negation is ground out between gritted teeth.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

He doesn’t tell her how sublime she feels wrapped around him. How after this he’s going to have to take a break and that’s the last thing he wants to do because every movement and every vocalization is perfection.

“Let go, Marr.”

It’s more commanding than he’s ever heard her be and his body completely ignores his brain’s demand to resist. He shouts an expletive as he comes again, yanking her up onto her knees and holding her against him. “Damn you.”

She shoots him a triumphant look. “I can see you liked _that_.” She pats his cheek. “Let’s get a drink, I’m parched. And then it’s time you lay back and let me do the work.”

 _A drink_ turns out to be shots of top-shelf whiskey and it doesn’t take much to strip their remaining inhibitions away. He drips one shot along her collarbone, watching amber drops roll along her breasts before sweeping them away with the flat of his tongue, coming back to tease pert and peaked nipples until she moans his name, red hair spilling down her back.

“You have a bed in this heap?” They stagger into the bedroom without running into _too_ many things, and she looks from him to the small bed and back. “You fit on that? Really?”

“Nominally.”

She laughs outright and gives him a halfhearted push toward it. “Well, get over there.”

He does, of course, stretching out with his hands laced behind his head. “You know you’re going to have to wait, yes?” he says, watching as she straddles him, perching herself on his thighs.

She gives him a withering look. Warmth seeps from her skin into his as she skims her palms along his arms, his chest, his stomach, his thighs; her face splits in a wide, drunken grin when his cock stirs in her hands. “And you said I’d have to wait.”

“You are insatiable,” her murmurs, watching her.

“It’s one of my best qualities.” She slows, a note of seriousness creeping into her voice. “Should I stop?”

“Perish the thought.”

She turns her attention to what she’s doing, intently focused on him and the sounds he’s making as her hands slide along his shaft, her smirk resurfacing again as an idea occurs to her. “I wonder ….”

He’s far too inebriated to be making rational decisions, and the words are out of his mouth before he’s thought them through. “Don’t wonder. Do it.”

One eyebrow quirks. “You don’t even know what I want to do.”

“Immaterial.”

Surprise is plain on her face. “Is that so? I’ll have to remember that for later.” 

Faint veins of lightning spider along her hands, sending a tingle through his cock; his eyes widen and he props himself up on his elbows to watch her.

“I know, something something _inappropriate use of the Force_ , yes?” Her hands don’t slow and she folds herself downward, her breath warm on his ear. “Have I mentioned how sexy your voice is yet? Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

He’s already rocking his hips against her curled fingers. “You claim -” He stops, swallowing hard, fighting to concentrate. “You’ve repeatedly told me you know all about me. Let’s see how much you really know.”

“Hmm.” She kisses him, then sits up, watches his face as she varies her strokes, feels his thighs twitch under her legs. “ _There_ we go.” When he moans and bites his lip, the sunny grin breaks bright on her features. “Oh, make that sound again. I like that sound.”

“You’ll have to make -” He doesn’t get to finish and soon he’s grinding into her hands, his fingers rough on her thighs as he pulls her closer. “Nox, I … I’m -”

She can’t tear her gaze away from his face. “ _Yes_.” She slides backward out of his grasp and leans forward, her hair falling in a crimson sheet around her face as she replaces her hand with her mouth. 

At the sudden heat, he rakes his hands into her hair and arches his back. “Oh, _fuck_!”

Her moan is wanton and her hips roll, her throat working as she takes all of him, withdrawing with such maddening slowness that he has to clutch at the sheets. “I’d say I know you pretty well,” she says, sultry, running her finger along her lower lip. “Of course, I doubt you could say the same about me.”

He doesn’t know how she does it, how she unerringly strikes a nerve every single time she needles him, how she blows right past all of his defenses and gets his hackles up, but he once again feels obligated to defend his honor. “That so?” 

He sits up and gets an arm around her, intending on reversing their positions, but she puts a hand down to try to stop him and misses the bed entirely. She lets out a surprised yell as she slips out of his grasp and tumbles to the floor, banging her arm on the end table as she goes down. She’s already wheezing with laughter by the time he looks over the side of the bed.

“Problems, Nox?”

“Yes, your bed is too damn small,” she shoots back, grinning. She takes his extended hand and lets him help her up, then slides back onto the bed. “Now, I’m reasonably sure you were getting ready to attempt to prove me wrong about something.”

To her surprise, he stands and holds out his hand again. “Oh, I’m going to. But not here.” He pulls her through the shuttle, stopping in the cockpit. He drops into the pilot chair - which she’s almost certain is bigger than that bed - and beckons at her, settling her on his lap with her back pressed to his chest.

“I’m surprised you made such a misstep a few minutes ago,” he rumbles in her ear as he skims his palms along her arms. “That’s unlike you.”

She knows exactly what he’s talking about, but she’s going to pretend she doesn’t. “What misstep?” Her voice misses casual by a wide margin.

He cups her breasts, resting his chin on her shoulder as he does so. “How long have you thought about this, I wonder?” He tweaks her nipples, presses a warm, wet kiss to her neck, her skin still sweat-salty under his tongue. “How many times have you set your pulse to racing thinking about me?” He lifts her arm, kisses her wrist. 

Kryn, motionless in his lap and already breathless, grasps for an answer. “Just as long as you’ve thought about me?”

His hands slide from her breasts to the indent of her waist, slow and steady. “Have you thought of my hands here?” The flare of her hips. “Or here?” He splays his fingers wide on her thighs. “Here?” It doesn’t take much encouragement for her to drape her legs over the armrests of the chair. “No, Nox, you’re not the type for delayed gratification, are you? You prefer things with a distinctly dangerous flavor. Trysts in near-public, yes?” 

She whimpers as he drags his fingernails along her inner thigh. “Is it your office?” He repeats the gesture on her other leg. “Mine?” His fingers part dark red curls, and he pauses just before he touches her. “Or maybe the Council chamber, swift and silent, all those licentious sounds you make trapped in that perfect mouth.” A smile brightens his expression when she still doesn’t answer. “Here?”

“Close.” It’s almost a whine, she wants him so badly. She lays her hand over his and cants her hips up, not even trying to suppress her moan as the pad of his finger grazes her clit. “There. Oh gods, _there_ , right there.”

He’d planned on teasing her longer but she’s already writhing in his lap, drawn-out vowels and expletives in a variety of languages falling from her lips, and he wants her undone now. She reaches behind her and her back arches, her nails digging into his shoulder as she stammers his name, spills warmth into his lap, shakes against his still-moving hand. 

He doesn’t wait for her to even catch her breath, drawing tighter, quicker, lighter circles on her clit this time, hissing a breath through his teeth when her hand finds his hair and closes around it. She bends her legs, braces her heels on the armrest as she thrusts against him, and this time her legs close on his hand, holding him in place as she’s lost in the throes of a second orgasm, her cry raspy and broken. 

She collapses back against him, breathing hard, and he reaches up with his free hand, turning her head far enough for him to be able to kiss her. “I trust we can agree I know you just as well as you know me, yes?”

“Mmm.” She’s already turning in his lap, curling up against him, flush still vivid on her pale skin, yawning widely. “Nap?”

He wraps an arm around her and reclines the chair. He’s going to need a hell of a lot more than a measly _nap_ , but that can wait until after she leaves. “Yes.”

[5]  
Warm Rishi sunlight is streaming through the viewport when Kryn wakes up, stretched out on top of Marr in the reclined pilot chair. Sighing contentedly, she smiles as she feels a residual twinge of pain from the scratches on her back. Things got a little out of hand last night; Kryn certainly has no complaints, though she’s not sure she’ll be able to look at him the same way in Council meetings ever again.

His greeting rumbles in his chest. “Good morning.”

She looks up, surprised, and chuckles. “Aw, so much for sneaking out.”

“Was it that bad?” He sounds genuinely offended. “You were just going to leave?”

“No, but everyone knows slipping out before the other person wakes up is general procedure for when you have a drunken escapade with a man you met in a cantina.” She props herself up on her forearms, smirking, and looks at him. “Besides, you don’t strike me as the breakfast and conversation type. You strike me as the type that prefers this sort of thing done and forgotten.”

He shrugs, unperturbed. “Usually.”

“I thought so.” 

She’s clearly pleased that she’s read him so well, and it piques his pride. “But,” he continues, “this sort of thing generally doesn’t include trying to ride tonitrans, fighting pirates, ripped clothing, and the sort of entertainment that results in broken furniture and minor lacerations.”

“No?” Her bottom lip pokes out in a pout. “Now I feel sorry for you; that’s a terrible thing to be missing in your life.”

He shakes his head, and she catches the eyeroll. “Indeed.”

Kryn boosts herself up, knees planted on each side of him. “I do need to get back though; we’re leaving today.” She gives him a frank inspection, noting the marks scattered across his skin. “Probably a good thing you wear that suit, or you’d have some explaining to do to anyone who knows you’re not really a person who has fun.” A mischievous smile tugs at her mouth. “In other words, everyone who’s ever talked to you for more than five minutes.”

“Amusing as always, Nox.” He points out a deeper cut on her upper arm. “Get kolto on that one; what was that from?”

She studies it for a moment. “Hmm. Was that where I fell off the bed and grazed the end table? Maybe?”

“Ah,” he nods, “that was probably it.”

“Well, these all just mean you did a good job,” she says lightly as she slides off of him. “Clothes?”

“Entryway.”

She nods. “That’s right. Surprised they made it that far, to be honest.” She strides out of the cockpit like she’s strolling into the Citadel, returning in her torn tunic and trousers. “Good thing my ship isn’t far, I can’t even fasten these. Worth it, though.” Her voice turns all business. “Anyway, we’ll be heading to Yavin today, so I’ll see you there.”

He raises the pilot chair back to an upright position and stands, grasping her wrist and pulling her against him. He wraps an arm around her and lifts her up, kissing her hard. “Til next time, Nox.”


	2. Private Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle against the Revanites is ending, but a larger adventure is beginning.

[1]  
The jungle is fairly humming, celebrations of the Revanites’ defeat in full swing, when Marr intercepts Kryn as she makes her way back toward the command center after her final talk with Theron Shan.

“There you are,” he growls, stalking toward her. He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her behind a column, out of sight of the jubilant coalition members. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She yanks away from him and folds her arms, her tone glacial. “You sound displeased. Are you going to tell me why? Or is this a standard-issue pissy Sith thing?

He mirrors her stance. “You are Sith. You deserve better diversions than a Republic ass-kisser who preaches peace and restraint,” he snaps, practically spitting the last word. “You should not be restrained. You are wasted on someone who doesn’t respect the power you command. You are wasted on someone who doesn’t understand that power, who can’t complement that power, who can’t make you stronger.”

She tilts her head, amusement in her voice. “Why, Darth Marr … are you _jealous_ I kissed him?”

His tone is clipped. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nox.”

“That’s an awfully strong opinion of a random SIS agent in that case, Satele Shan’s progeny or no. But if you maintain you aren’t jealous, then I’m not sure what your problem is.” She reaches for his mask. “You know … we do have a little time, and I’m sure you’d consider yourself a far more worthy diversion, yes?” she says coyly.

He takes a step back, hand falling to his lightsaber. “No one but me has ever taken that mask off, and that is not about to change now.” 

Kryn can’t help herself; she laughs. “Oh, please. It’s not like I’m some random person. Now who’s being ridiculous?” She reaches for it again. “I’ll let you take mine off. That way it’s a fair trade.”

He swats her hand away, the back of his gauntlet colliding with her outstretched hand, and unclips his lightsaber, dropping into a fighting stance. “No.”

She responds in kind, lightning sparking around her fingers as the air between them grows charged. “If this is really what you want to do,” she drawls. “And here I thought you were intelligent.”

After a long, tense moment, he straightens and hooks his saber back onto his belt. “Everyone should have returned by now. We need to get this coalition business over with. With any luck, the Jedi and their faithful little followers will be off this moon by tonight.” He straightens his hood, brushes non-existent dirt off the back of one gauntlet. “You and I have much to discuss, as well.”

“Do we?” she snaps, insolent. “You don’t just want to have a slap fight?”

“Some boundaries cannot be crossed, Nox,” he says with finality. “This is one of them. Do not push me on this.”

Kryn bows, somehow making even that obsequious action feel disrespectful. “Yes, _my lord_ ,” she replies, voice heavy with sarcasm. “I will come speak with you in due time.” She turns on her heel and strides away.

[2]  
_“You should come to the Indomitable with me.”_  
_“Should I? I wouldn’t want to overstep my boundaries.”_  
_“We have Imperial business to discuss. There is much work ahead of us.”_

A smile pulls at the corner of Kryn’s mouth as she awakens, though the smile fades and she groans as she stretches on the military-issue double bed in Marr’s small, austere quarters. “How do you even sleep on this thing?” she asks as she sits up, wincing as her back protests.

Marr, wearing only a simple pair of black trousers, is in a desk chair reading a datapad. “I lay down on it and I go to sleep,” he says. “It’s not difficult.” He points at the carafe and datapad on the table. “I made fresh caf if you want some, and there’s a copy of the information I’ve been compiling. I intended on discussing this with you last night, but was distracted by ... other matters.”

They had discussed no Imperial business whatsoever the night before, opting instead to resolve the lingering tension between them with sex, anger sated and replaced by ardor. She sinks into the chair opposite him and sighs, disappointed. “Even the chair is uncomfortable,” she mutters as she pours herself a cup of caf. “You’re a Dark Council member, and in charge of the entire military. You could at least have comfortable chairs.” She picks up the datapad and starts skimming through it.

“I got my ship faster not waiting for fancy accoutrements.” He gives her a chastising look. “Our goal is defeating the Republic and securing the Empire, not sleeping in cushy beds.”

“Well, why not do -” The familiar beep of her holocom interrupts her and she looks around the room. “Where … damn, how did everything end up under the bed?” She drops to her knees and rummages around, looking for her clothes. He sets his datapad down and watches, hurriedly picking it back up when she straightens with a triumphant expression on her face. “Got it.”

She sits back in the chair and punches the button; Andronikos, in the pilot’s chair of the Adamant, flickers to holographic life. “Hey boss, where the hell did you run off to yesterday? I owed you some drinks, and -” He pauses, one eyebrow lifting. “Are you naked?”

“I’m out with the fleet, and yes, I am.” She jabs a finger at his hologram. “You owe me credits, by the way.”

“Do I?” He grins. “I better get the whole story about all this when you get back, Sith. Do we need to come pick you up?”

She nods. “That would likely be for the best. I’m aboard the Indomitable right now. Give me ….” She trails off as she consults her chrono. “Give me an hour? I’ll meet you in the docking bay; just let me know where they send you when you get here.”

“The … okay.” He pantomimes writing something down. “We’ll add that to the list of things we’re going to talk about later. See you in an hour.”

Kryn tosses the holocom onto the table, directs her focus to the pile of armor and clothing she’s pulled out from under the bed. “Guess I ought to get dressed.”

“Do you always answer your holocom naked?” Marr asks.

She raises an eyebrow. “If I’m naked at the time. Why?”

“Just wondering,” he says nonchalantly, not looking up from his datapad. “We’re leaving a couple of platoons planetside to chase down runners and rout holdouts. I’m sure we’ll be dealing with people trying to turn themselves in for some time.”

She taps her fingernails on the top of the desk, her expression thoughtful. “What are we planning on doing with them?”

“What would you recommend?”

“We can’t offer quarter to traitors,” she says with no hesitation. “If we’re lenient, others will follow in their footsteps, thinking they can get away with it.”

He nods, pleased. “Agreed.” His fingers fly over the screen as he composes the first draft of orders dictating the protocol for surrenders.

Kryn smiles wickedly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun with them first, of course.”

Marr chuckles. “An inquisitor through and through, I see.” He sets the datapad down and looks at her. “So, Darth Nox. Lord Kallig. I know your name isn’t Nox, since I gave that to you. What is your name?”

There’s power in names, and Kryn isn’t inclined to give hers up without equal reciprocity. “Are you going to tell me yours?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Declaration of trust or no, this is a bridge too far for him. “No.”

She shrugs, then stands. “Then my name is Nox,” she says lightly, plucking her skirt out of the pile and stepping into it.

Deep in thought, he sits back in his chair and watches her dress. When she’s finished, helm in hand, she checks her chrono again. “I better go. I’ll see you back on Dromund Kaas.”

He rises and crosses the room. “Try to not terrify the men too much on your way out.” He pulls her close, bends to kiss her.

She relaxes against him for just a moment, then steps back, grin on her face. “No promises.” Donning her helm, she sweeps out the door.

[3]  
She all but swaggers onto the Adamant, quite pleased. “Let’s go home. I want to sleep in my own, decidedly more comfortable bed.”

Andronikos bites his lip, trying unsuccessfully to hold in laughter. “I bet you do.”

“Shush, pirate.” She holds out her hand. “And fork over my credits you still owe me from Rishi.”


	3. Wildly Inappropriate Force Use

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn's still a little irked about the spat over the mask on Yavin 4, and handles it like any good Sith would - by getting a little revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of plot with this smut. Not a lot, but a little. :)

After the Council meeting that morning, two Revanites - former captains in the Imperial Navy - are brought in for judgment. They've been groveling for three hours, sure that if they just find the right argument they'll be forgiven their traitorous ways. Marr, seated behind his massive desk, sees no reason to disabuse them of that notion until absolutely necessary.

Kryn sits in her office, chair tilted back, feet propped up on her desk. A small smile touches the corners of her mouth as she reaches out through the Force, threading her way through the Citadel searching for ....

"Ah, there you are," she murmurs to herself as she lightly brushes against his mind. _let's play a game, shall we?_

His reply is almost instantaneous. _No. I don't play games._

She grins outright. _i wonder, how long can you sit there and conduct business while i distract you?_

Disapproval colors every word of his response. _If you think to manipulate me, you will be sorely disappointed._

Kryn chuckles delightedly, all but clapping her hands. _a challenge!_ She leans back a little more, lacing her fingers behind her head. _imagine your lips on mine, all heat and urgency, your hand on the small of my back as you pull me against you. my nails digging into your upper arms as the kiss grows insistent, your tongue plunging into my mouth. you set me on the desk, nipping at my jawline and down to my neck, your teeth sinking in, the pain igniting fiery desire deep in my belly. i inhale sharply, and you get that wolfish smile, the one i love because only i get to see it._

He sits stone-still, resisting picturing any of that in anywhere near as much detail as he wants. He's irritated that she's trying this, irritated that he can practically hear that inhalation, irritated that he wants her to continue.

_i lean forward to bite your collarbone, and you run your hands through my hair, hairpins falling to the floor. you tense as i drag my nails along that delectable v at your hips, your hands fisting in my hair as i push your trousers off. i drop to my knees and sink my nails into that magnificent ass as I slide my mouth over you. i know you like that tongue trick i did aboard the indomitable, and i like how you shudder when i do it, your breath coming faster as you try to maintain control._

Unbidden, that night on the _Indomitable_ flashes across his mind's eye - the anger from earlier subsumed by unbridled lust, reddened lips around his shaft as his legs shake, purple energy crackling from fingertips to skin, pain and pleasure so closely intertwined as to be indistinguishable. The rush prickling under his skin as he abandons all control, the arch of her back as he takes her from behind, her nails digging into his thighs as she pulls him closer, demanding more. He clenches his fist and inhales deeply; the two prisoners flinch backward before they resume speaking.

_you step back and pull me to my feet, then sit in my chair and crook your finger at me. i straddle you and lower myself onto you, surrounding you with slick wet heat. i undulate at an excruciatingly slow pace as you close your eyes, and it takes everything in your power to not dig your fingers into my hips and yank me closer._

He can feel her heart pounding as she spins her fantasy, feels the raw lust rolling off her, and that more than anything nearly undoes him. He takes another deep breath, trying to tamp down the heat rushing through his body, frustration mounting at his growing inability to ignore what she's trying to do.

_your iron will cracks at last, and you lift me to my feet. everything on my desk goes flying as you sweep it clear, then spin me around and bend me over. one hand is fisted in my hair and the other is leaving long red welts down my back as you thrust into me. i grip the edges of the desk, my breath short and gasping, going up on tiptoes for a better angle._

Marr closes his eyes, calls on every meditation technique he can think of. Nothing works, and his cock presses insistently against his armor. Every time he tries to shift, another jolt of unadulterated desire shoots through him, and all thoughts of everything but sating that need have fled his mind.

_i can feel your pulse racing, and it’s delicious because no one else knows. your jaw is clenched, you're sitting ramrod straight, your breath is shorter, but to everyone else you're stoic and unmovable. you don’t even know what those traitors are talking about anymore, nor do you care, and still you sit there striving for the calm that keeps slipping through your fingers. no matter how you try all you can think about is being here, being inside me, because peace is a lie, there is only passion, so let go, give in, stop **holding back**._

"Enough!" he finally growls. Both prisoners stop talking, watching the Sith lord apprehensively. He stands, Force-chokes one, impales the other on his lightsaber before the first has fallen, and stalks out of his office.

Kryn is sitting at her desk failing to look nonchalant when he throws her door open, storms in, and punches the door panel behind him. "Why, Darth Marr! What an unexpected surprise!" she chirps after the door closes. "What brings you by?"

He reaches up and shoves his hood back, then pulls his mask off and throws it to the side of the room, green eyes blazing. Not taking his eyes off Kryn’s face, he removes his gauntlets and bracers, flinging them in the same direction as his mask.

A lopsided smile lifts one corner of her mouth, heat already pooling low in her stomach. "A striptease, just for little old me?"

His expression doesn't change as he unfastens the rest of his armor and discards it in the growing pile, still staring at her. Clad in a pair of loose trousers that only draw attention to how aroused he is, he closes in on Kryn. Her heart races as she watches him, unsure if he's going to kiss her or backhand her before he yanks her out of her chair and their mouths collide. His hands are everywhere - on the back of her neck, discarding her breastplate, in a vise grip around her upper arms - and she moans against him as she wedges her hand between them to loosen his trousers and shove them down. He steps out of them as he deftly unfastens her shirt, throwing it aside to squeeze her small breasts with his calloused hands as he captures her earlobe between his teeth.

Kryn whimpers and arches her back, pressing more fully into his hands as she rakes her nails down his arms. Abandoning any pretense at foreplay, he slides his hands along her ribcage, then down to cup her ass and lift her up. She hikes up her skirt and wraps her legs around his waist as he enters her just before they hit the wall, digging her nails into his back as he thrusts into her and her head snaps back. He smiles, revealing gleaming white teeth, as his second thrust shakes the bookcase next to them. A gasping breath escapes her and she drags her fingernails upward, burying her hands in his hair. "Harder!"

He obliges, his hips bucking forward again and again, finally abandoning rhythm entirely. She screams once, short and sharp, before he covers her mouth with his own in a furious kiss. Datapads tumble off the shelves each time they slam into the wall. Kryn’s hair falls around her face as hairpins shake loose and fall to the floor. She comes first, arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, uncontrollable shivers wracking her. He finishes right after her, driving her into the wall as his body shakes, face buried in her neck to muffle the exclamation he can't hold back.

Marr staggers back and sets her down, glaring at her. "Inquisitor Zyn must have loved you, given your firm grasp of utter torture."

Kryn smirks at him and brushes hair back off her forehead. "He did, in fact." She looks him up and down, chuckling at his folded arms and stormy expression. "You _do_ know you don't intimidate me, right?"

"I'm aware," he growls.

"You should keep trying, though," she continues, trailing her fingertips along his arm, tracing the scratches she'd left on it. "That frustrated 'I haven't decided whether to kiss you or kill you' look, mmm, it makes you practically _irresistible_ ," she purrs, sitting on the edge of her desk. "Have I ever mentioned that I don't like being denied?" She smiles sweetly. "I hope it was worth it to hang onto your mask there on Yavin Four."

He scowls at her. " _That's_ what this was about?"

She laughs. "Of course! You didn't want to listen to those traitors all day anyway, we had a good time, and now we're even."

He picks up his trousers and pulls them on. "You got the upper hand this time, Nox, but ....." He leans in close, breath warm on her ear. "We are certainly _not_ even," he rumbles. "I owe you one."

She bites her lip as a frisson of excitement races down her spine. "I can't wait to see how you pay me back," she says as she watches him cross the room and put his armor back on. As he picks up his mask, she hops down off the desk and closes the distance between them.

He looks down. "Yes?"

Kryn grabs a handful of cloth and pulls him down to her, then kisses him hard on the mouth. "Til next time, Marr." She turns him toward the door and slaps his ass. “Now get out of here, I have work to do.”


	4. Receiving Callers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few people drop by to visit Kryn at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ca'ii is the second-youngest of the Sartoris sisters. Smuggler, nominal ties to the Republic but goes where the credits lead.

Kryn’s sister Ca’ii, a Mirialan smuggler, had dropped by earlier that day with a box of goodies - a couple of new dresses and some crystals she’d pocketed on Ilum for Kryn (“I don’t know, you Force types use this stuff, right? Here, take them, Lysch didn’t want them”), and a hodgepodge of things for the crew, then stayed to visit.

“Look, I’m telling you, Larrik is trouble. Aren would be smart to run as far away from him as she can get,” Ca’ii says as they watch the credits roll on “As Coruscant Turns”.

“Utter nonsense. You’re just saying that because of his background,” Kryn scoffs, “which shows how quickly you types jump to judgment when someone isn’t just like you.”

“That’s rich coming from an Imp,” Ca’ii starts, turning when someone coughs behind them.

Andronikos leans over from behind the couch to point out the large window that takes up the entire outer wall of the apartment’s main living space. “Hey, Sith, you have a visitor.”

Through the sheets of rain, Kryn watches the cloaked figure step off their speeder and start crossing the balcony with long strides. A panicked look flashes across her face. “Ca’ii, you have to … oh, blast.” She looks around. “Go hide in my room. No, wait, that won’t work.”

“You’re acting weird, even for you,” Andronikos says. He peers out the window, not even trying to hide his curiosity. “Is that the guy from the cantina on Rishi?”

Ca’ii has folded her arms, clearly unwilling to move from her seat on the couch. “Why do I have to hide, anyway?”

Kryn ignores Ca’ii. “Yes, Andronikos, it is.”

Ca’ii’s face lights up. “Wait. Isn’t that the super hot guy you told me about?” She turns toward the window, now far more interested in the person nearly across the balcony. “I want to meet him!”

Consternation is writ large on Kryn’s face. “No! And you need to hide because you’re not exactly - and of course you’re the one of us with no pazaak face at all.” She glares at Ca’ii. “You have to -”

Andronikos flops onto the couch next to Ca’ii, far too lackadaisical for Kryn’s taste, ignoring her scowl. “Better go answer the door.” 

Kryn jabs Ca’ii in the shoulder before she stands. “You don’t run your mouth, and you’re on your way out, little sister. Got it?” Her face is grave, more serious than Ca’ii has seen it in a long time, if ever. “Don’t fight me on this one.”

“I got it!” Ca’ii turns to Andronikos, rubbing her shoulder. “Who is that person?”

He shrugs. “She never told me who he was, but if he’s an Imperial he probably wouldn’t take kindly to her knowing you, since you’re at least sort of tied to -”

Kryn snaps her fingers, cutting him off, as she opens the door. “Darth … Aphotic,” she says after a short pause. “I wasn’t expecting you. Do come in.”

Marr raises an eyebrow at the name as he hangs his cloak up on a rack mounted next to the door. “Darth Nox. I trust I’m not interrupting.” Authority is plain in his voice, as natural to him as breathing.

Ca’ii’s blue eyes widen as she gets a good look at the mysterious visitor, and she leans over to Andronikos. “You guys have some mighty good looking folks on your side,” she whispers. “He pays well enough, I might be convinced to switch allegiances.”

Studying the man, Andronikos nods. “Better hit him up for some work, then.” Puzzlement crosses his face. “He sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“Of course you’re not interrupting,” Kryn replies smoothly, beckoning toward the couches. “Please, have a seat. My friend was just leaving. Weren’t you?”

Ca’ii shoots to her feet. “That’s right, Darth … ah ….” She stops, realizing she’s staring, and shakes her head. “Darth Aphotic, was it?”

“And you are?”

“Jeyn Salrit.” The lie flows out of her mouth as smoothly as water. She extends her hand, withdrawing it when she realizes he’s probably not the handshaking type. “I’m an independent shipping consultant.”

He looks from Kryn to Ca’ii. “Independent shipping consultant. It’s certainly a more socially acceptable title than smuggler,” he says, sounding almost amused. “Nox said you were leaving?”

“Oh! Yes.” She pats her pockets, making sure she has everything. “On my way.” She nudges Kryn with her elbow. “We’ll talk later, yes, Darth Nox?”

“Of course, Jeyn. Thanks for coming by.” She motions at Andronikos. “Can you show her out?”

“No problem, boss. I have some things to go take care of anyway.” Slipping his blaster into its holster, he crosses the room to Kryn’s side and throws an arm around her shoulders. “Later, Sith.”

She grins. “Later, pirate.” After kissing his cheek, she gives him a gentle shove toward Ca’ii. “Get out of here.”

As the door closes behind the pair, Marr gives Kryn a disapproving look. “Darth Aphotic? That’s terrible.”

Hands on her hips, Kryn raises an eyebrow. “Says the owner of a shuttle named Fuliginous. And if you’d told me you were coming, I could have made sure everyone was gone. I can’t exactly announce you as Darth Marr. And Aphotic was better than Darth No One Gets To See My Face Avert Your Eyes.” She gives him a cheeky grin. “So, why are you here?”

His tone is all business. “You haven’t been at the Citadel lately.”

“Finding your work days sadly devoid of distraction?” She waggles her eyebrows; he folds his arms and waits. Finally she shrugs. “You know me. All that politicking is a bore, and I own a holocom. I’d rather be offworld.”

“I can certainly understand that,” he says, a faint note of bitterness in his voice.

“Plus, I’m pretty sure Ravage needs a couple of weeks to cool off after the last meeting I went to.” She laughs. “He’s so touchy.”

“You didn’t need to point out that all he’s done lately is go to meetings,” he replies, trying to sound stern. “Though that might have been acceptable if you hadn’t then gone on to tell him to do something more useful with his existence.”

“Well, I gave him a suggestion,” she huffs.

Marr’s expression turns genuinely disapproving. “You told him to go be a footstool for a more productive Sith … namely, if memory serves, _you_ , so that he’d be less of a waste of Imperial oxygen.”

Kryn is unrepentant. “He shouldn’t have gotten on my case about not going to meetings. Either he’ll learn to leave me alone, or he’ll continue to be verbally flayed. His choice.”

He eyes her. “Is this how you normally dress at home?”

She examines her low-slung black pants and sleeveless tunic. “What, did you think I sat around my home in armor?” She giggles, struck by an amusing image. “You probably do, don’t you? You sit with perfect posture on your couch -” She holds up her hands. “Wait, no. You’re more the type to have a replica of your Council seat, and practice your glare, even though no one can see it.” She bursts into peals of laughter, laughing even harder when she sees him scowling at her. “Just like that!” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, determined to remain stoic. “Are you finished?”

“Hang on, hang on.” She braces her hands on her knees, drawing a deep breath, and tries to look serious, though she only succeeds in smirking up at him. “This is the best you’re going to get, I’m afraid.”

He sighs deeply. “Of course it is.” 

“Come on, I’m just playing around.” She indicates his simple clothing. “I mean, you’re not wearing it now.”

“We’re trying to keep this alliance secret, are we not? There’s no reason to get them mobilizing against us yet. They will, once they know.”

She makes a face, her nose wrinkling. “Let them come, I say. Between your resources and mine, I doubt we have much to worry about.” She gives him a quizzical look. “But, and not to be rude, why are you really here? Just because I haven’t been at the Citadel in a couple of days, or a week, or whatever it’s been?”

He inspects the main room. “This is surprisingly pleasant,” he observes as he examines the holos and statuary in the room. “Very bright and open. Not what most Sith seem to favor.”

Kryn sniffs with disdain. “I think we can agree that I’m not like most Sith. That doesn’t really answer my question, but thank you.”

“No, that’s not the only reason. I have business to discuss with you.”

“You could have called my holocom.” She pulls the device out of her pocket and wiggles it at him.

“I could have.” He pauses. “But it’s the middle of the day, and the odds were against you being naked.” The barest hint of a smile curves his mouth when she looks legitimately surprised.

“I … well, I can’t argue with such sound reasoning,” she says, grinning. “What business did we need to talk about?”

“As you may know, the Imperial military has a joint service ball every year to commemorate its founding, and it’s coming up in a month.” He crosses back the couches, settling onto one.

Kryn nods as she sits opposite him on the other couch. “Talos has been sprucing up his dress uniform for quite some time now.”

“This year, I’ve been asked to be the guest of honor at the ball here in Kaas City,” he continues, sounding less than pleased about the prospect.

“Well, congratulations!” she exclaims, then gasps in mock concern, her hand flying to her mouth. “Have you decided what to wear yet? You have so little time left, and so many choices!”

He ignores this quip. “It is also customary to extend an invitation to the rest of the Dark Council, though they rarely attend,” he adds.

“Are you asking me to be your date?” she jokes, unsure of what she’d say if he said yes. “I’ll consider it, but I’m going to be disappointing quite a few people.”

He rolls his eyes. “Focus, Nox.”

“You have really got to lighten up,” she mutters, irritated with herself for feeling disappointed. “Is this some stilted thing where everyone sits around in silence except for _yes sir_ and _no sir_ and _yes my lord_ and _no my lord_? Because those aren’t very enjoyable.”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t attended prior to this year.”

She sits forward, her face lighting up when she has a thought. “Oh! Do you get to give a speech?”

“No.”

She slumps back on the couch, disappointed. “Damn.” Silence spins out as she contemplates the suggestion. “Maybe I’ll go. Do you need a definite answer?”

“No. I was merely informing you that you have a standing invitation.” He looks over as footsteps sound on the stairs.

Ashara comes to a stop in the doorway as she takes note of Kryn’s visitor. “Pardon me, my lord, I was unaware you had company. Will we be training today, or are we postponing it for another time?”

Marr looks from Ashara to Kryn. “She is one of your melee fighters, is she not?”

Kryn nods. “She is an exceptional duelist. I was fortunate she chose to join me.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Ashara bows, but not before Kryn sees the pleased smile on her face.

Marr stands. “A bout, Ashara?”

Ashara’s eyes dart from Marr to Kryn, seeking approval. Kryn shrugs. “If you are amenable, that’s fine with me. It would be good for you to face off against another swordsman.”

“I would be honored, my lord,” Ashara says, turning to Marr. “Lightsabers or training sabers?”

“Lightsabers,” Marr replies without hesitation.

Ashara inclines her head. “I will go prepare.” 

Kryn’s brows knit together as the Togruta departs. “I’ll ask Talos to come augment healing.” She shoots a look of disapproval at Marr. “You’re supposed to spar, not kill each other.”

“Sparring with training sabers is for children, for acolytes who are still wet behind the ears.” He folds his arms and returns her disapproving look. “Ashara has crossed the galaxy with you. Training sabers are an insult to her talent.” They make their way toward the training room. “Go fetch Drellik; I can find my way.”

Kryn points at a closed door, smirk on her face. “If you wander in there, feel free to get comfortable on the bed and wait for me.”

He makes a show of checking his bearings. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Kryn pokes her head into the research lab. “Hey, Talos, Ashara is sparring with sabers.”

“Lead the way, my lord.” He lays down the artifact he’s been examining, falling into step behind Kryn as they slip into the training room. 

Marr and Ashara are on opposite sides of the large room. Ashara is the picture of calm, back straight and hands clasped, eyes closed, centering herself. Marr has discarded his tunic and is prowling the length of the room, waiting for Ashara to be ready. 

Kryn bites her lip and suppresses the urge to whistle out loud at Marr as she blatantly looks him up and down. Scars of all lengths and sizes crisscross his expansive chest and back, and she’s mesmerized by the ripple of muscles in his back as he takes practice swings with his saber. She tamps down the sudden wave of lust and clears her throat. “Whenever you two are ready.”

Ashara draws her sabers and activates them, illuminating her white skirt in red and orange. Marr crouches, leaps across the room, lightsaber a red blur. She ducks under his strike, swinging behind her as he comes down. The match becomes a whirl of color amid the hiss of clashing sabers. Ashara finally stumbles, and Marr knocks her to the ground, pointing his lightsaber at her heart. 

“You are defeated,” he says, “but that was excellent.” He deactivates his lightsaber and steps back, giving her room to stand.

Ashara climbs to her feet and bows, breathing hard. “Thank you, my lord. I work hard to expand my talents.”

Talos clears his throat. “Ashara, would you like to come assist with the latest artifacts we’ve been sent? I know you’d mentioned a few days ago that you want to get more involved in the archaeological side of the Reclamation Service.”

She nods, excitement lighting her eyes. “I would! I’ll go shower and change and be there in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Talos,” Kryn says. “You may return to your duties.”

“My lord.” He bows and swiftly departs the room.

Kryn turns to Marr, entertaining a brief but potent fantasy about licking Alderaanian ice brandy off the planes of his stomach. “You didn’t cut her any slack, I see.”

“She wouldn’t improve if I did.” He pauses for a moment. “You were staring.”

“You took your shirt off. What did you expect me to do?”

He chuckles. “I just thought inquisitors were more devious than that.”

She laughs outright. “I think I’ve been more than straightforward with you.”

He picks up his tunic and slides it back over his head. “I have a meeting with three admirals regarding some of the Outer Rim systems. You and I need to schedule a meeting soon to put all our assets on the table and formulate our plan for fixing what’s gone wrong within the Empire.”

“Aww, not staying for dinner?” Her hurt tone sounds almost genuine. Almost.

“Are you ever serious?” he asks as they walk back through the apartment.

“Not usually. I can be when the situation requires, but the situation rarely requires, in my experience.” She nudges him. “Besides, someone has to balance you out lest we all tip into inescapable somberness.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sure you feel that my somberness, as you put it, is equal to your prodigious amount of irreverence?”

“Of course.” Kryn grins. “Tell you what, if you can lighten up a little, I’ll be a little more serious now and again.” She lifts his cloak off the hook and hands it to him. “Deal?”

Marr takes it and settles it around his shoulders. “I think we can both admit that we’re unlikely to change, don’t you?”

“Pragmatic to the end.” She smirks at him. “Watch out, you’ll be winning women’s hearts left and right with that attitude.”

“As soon as that’s a priority of mine, you’ll be the first to know.” He starts to reach for the door panel, then turns back to her. “You’ll want to be at the next Council meeting. I received a report that the large amount of data we claimed from the rogue Imperial agent should be decrypted soon.”

“We got that after Makeb, and they just now finished it?”

“Revan took priority,” he snaps. “Or did that crisis slip your mind?”

She makes a face. “While we’re on this subject, I still can’t believe the Council disbanded Imperial Intelligence. That was a completely idiotic decision.”

He shrugs, unrepentant. “It has been rectified - Lana Beniko is in charge of Sith Intelligence now, and I believe you agreed she was a good choice?”

“I did.” Kryn nods. “Very well. I’ll be there for that meeting.”

“Good.” He pulls the hood of his cloak over his head. “I’ll send you the information I receive from this meeting today.”

She tries to sound nonchalant. “Will you be sending a message or calling?”

“Most likely I’ll send you the information and then call you.” He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Oh, I just wanted to know what to wear,” she says lightly, patting his arm. “Talk to you soon.”


	5. At the Military Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn attends the annual Imperial Military Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guest appearance by Lysch, fifth oldest of the eight Sartoris sisters. True Sith, Emperor's Wrath, no time for Kryn's silliness.

[1]  
“So you’re not going to go, Lysch? Even though Pierce and Quinn are?” Kryn fastens the halter neck of her dress, sunblazes and starcrystals twinkling in the overhead light.

“Sister, you know I have no patience for that sort of thing,” Lysch says. She’s fiddling with her disassembled lightsaber hilt, pieces of which are scattered all over Kryn’s bed. “Quinn was begging to go since he’s apparently missed all of them thus far, and all of Pierce’s comrades on Dromund Kaas will be there, but why would I go?”

“I don’t know, to spend a few hours ogling the two best looking men on your crew? To lighten up a little bit? It might be fun? Free food?” Kryn shrugs, turning to examine the back of her dress in the mirror. She subtly manipulates the Force to fasten the three narrow jewel-encrusted straps that cross her back. “Good enough reasons for me.”

“Unlike _some_ people, I am capable of maintaining my focus even when someone I consider attractive has walked into my field of vision,” Lysch sniffs. “I have some things to take care of tonight.” She pokes through the components on the bed. “Do you have a focusing lens? I think that’s the problem.”

“I think I do. Check over on the construction table … which, by the way, you were free to use instead of scattering your lightsaber all over my comforter.” Kryn buckles her shoes then stands up straight. “There. How do I look?”

Lysch, sorting through the bits and pieces on the construction table, sighs. “Have you ever considered organizing this, sister?” She looks over at Kryn, eyeing the sky high heels and the mostly open back of the flowing black shimmersilk dress. “That dress is useless for fighting.”

“For Sith required to swing a lightsaber, I suppose,” Kryn replies haughtily, giving Lysch an arch look. “Not for me.”

Lysch rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the construction table. “Well, if you like it that’s all that’s really important, isn’t it?”

Kryn laughs. “So you don’t like it.”

“Not at all. But it fits you and your … well, _flamboyant_ style perfectly, so I approve of your choice.” She straightens, focusing lens in hand. “I hope you have a good time.”

“Aww, you do care, little sister.” Kryn laughs as Lysch makes a face, then turns when there’s a tap on the bedroom door. She picks up her high collared cape and settles it around her shoulders. “There’s Talos. Feel free to stay as long as you like.” 

She opens the door, and Talos smiles and bows, the light gleaming on the metal details of his uniform. He extends his arm. “Are you ready, my lord?”

Kryn grins and loops her arm around his. “I am. Let’s go have some fun, Lieutenant.”

[2]  
Kryn and Talos are at a table with three other Imperial Reclamation Service members and their spouses, swapping stories about the worst places they’ve traveled to.

“You have to concede, Talos, that Tatooine was _far_ worse than anywhere else,” Kryn declares before taking a drink of her champagne.

“My lord, I think you’re forgetting about Hoth.” Talos sighs. “And Belsavis.”

Kryn’s mouth falls open in shock. “Belsavis? You didn’t like Belsavis? Belsavis was beautiful! The contrasts!”

Talos shakes his head. “Beautiful, yes … if it wasn’t for all the convicts. And those Dread Masters.”

“Oh, well, if you’re going to bring _them_ into it,” Kryn laughs. “But don’t you think -” She’s interrupted by the music starting up near the dance floor. “I love this song!” She stands, drink in hand. “I’m going to go dance. Are you staying here?”

“Yes, my lord. Dancing isn’t my thing.” He finishes his drink. “I usually leave not long after the music starts, because things tend to get rowdy.”

“That’s the best time to be here!” she exclaims. “But very well, I won’t press you. Take the speeder back whenever you’re ready to leave. I’ll catch a cab home.” She finishes her drink and sets the glass back on the table, waving at everyone seated. “It was lovely to meet you all; have fun!”

She plucks another glass of champagne off the tray of a waiter walking between tables, and makes her way toward the growing and enthusiastic crowd in the center of the room. A cheer goes up as she reaches the dance floor, and she laughs out loud when she discovers they’re all cheering for Pierce, who’s fairly flying through an intricate set of dance moves.

He bows amidst great applause as the song ends and struts over to Kryn, wide grin on his face. “Inquisitor. Fancy meeting you here.”

Her grin matches his. “I couldn’t very well miss the largest party of the season.” Her smile turns flirtatious. “Those are some smooth moves you’ve got there, Lieutenant. My sister didn’t tell me you could dance like that.”

“Your sister doesn’t know _everything_ about me,” he says, winking. “Very businesslike, your sister. Having a good time tonight?”

Kryn holds up her glass, which is already mostly empty. “Of course!”

“That’s a pretty fancy dress you have on there.” He wags an eyebrow at her. “I thought you Sith had to look scary all the time. Are you allowed to look that ravishing?”

“Shhh!” Kryn briefly lays a finger across his lips and leans in to whisper. “Don’t tell anyone or I might get in trouble.”

Pierce throws back his head and laughs. “You might already be in trouble. I think your fellow Sith over there,” he jerks his head toward where Marr is seated with a couple of nervous-looking moffs, “has noticed your dress. To be fair, I’m pretty sure most everyone has noticed that dress.”

“Which is exactly its point.” She grins conspiratorially. “However, you have had far too much to drink if that’s the kind of thing you’re telling me. Let’s get you another beer and you can tell me more.”

“Oh no, Inquisitor!” Pierce chuckles, holding up his hands as if to ward her off. “You’re not getting me into that kind of trouble! I’m going back to sit with my boys, but you come get me if you want to dance.”

“I’ll be sure to.” She watches him walk away, appreciative smile on her face, then picks up another drink at the bar; “surprise me!” results in a bright blue concoction that smells fruity and delicious. She smiles after taking a sip, then threads her way through the crowd to the large table in the front of the room, raising an eyebrow at the two moffs. “I’m sure you gentlemen have something to do elsewhere, yes?”

“Y-yes, my lord!” one stammers, elbowing the other. “We’re going!” They shoot to their feet, nearly tipping their chairs, and speed away from the table.

Kryn smirks, quite pleased with herself, and settles into the empty chair next to Marr. “Well, well … if it isn’t the guest of honor, suddenly sitting all alone,” she drawls. “Are you going to come dance with me? We’ll make quite the picture, you and I.”

“I -”

She holds up a hand. “Don’t dance, I’m sure.” She grins at him. “But I had to ask.”

He can't quite hide his exasperation. “Of course you did."

“You could have surprised me and actually danced,” she chides.

“I could also surprise you by becoming best friends with Satele Shan,” he snorts. “Both are unlikely.”

She makes a show of looking him up and down, noting how the armor accentuates his broad shoulders and trim waist. “I see you’re wearing your armor.”

“And I see you’re not.” He’s pleased that his tone stays casual.

Kryn feigns innocence. “Oh, you noticed?”

There’s a long pause as he discards several responses. “You could say that.”

“Good.” She smiles, then looks over as someone approaches the table. “Why, Lieutenant Pierce. Back again?”

“My lords,” he says, inclining his head. “Inquisitor, come dance with me?”

Kryn gives Pierce a knowing look. “Someone bet you I wouldn’t, didn’t they? And you didn’t tell them you already know me.”

He laughs outright. “Of course I didn’t tell them.” He holds out a hand. “You coming?”

She finishes her drink and stands, claps Marr on the back. “Missed your chance, but I might return. Don’t have too much fun without me in the meantime.”

“I’ll try not to,” Marr says dryly.

[3]  
The ballroom is quiet as groups of people filter out, headed to the cantinas or an afterparty or home to sleep. Pierce and Kryn are still swapping stories at a back table when another soldier approaches them.

“Pardon me … uh, Lieutenant, are you coming out to the Shadowed Sands with us?” he asks, shooting a nervous look at Kryn. “Um, my lord.” He bows awkwardly.

“Sure am, Jarrett.” Pierce stands, then looks back at Kryn. “You have a way home? Want to come along?”

Out of the corner of her vision, she sees a brief look of panic cross Jarrett’s face. “Oh, no, but thank you for the invitation. I’ll be fine. You go have a good time.” She looks past Pierce as someone else strides up. “Darth Marr.”

Pierce steps back and bows to both of them. “My lords.” He grins at Kryn. “See you later, Inquisitor. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

As Pierce disappears with his friends, she watches Marr settle into the chair across from her, folding his arms across his chest. “Nox.”

“Oh, you’re still here! I figured you’d have left long before now.” She arches an eyebrow. “You didn’t strike me as the party type, really.”

He shrugs. “The discussion with those moffs you ran off took longer than I anticipated.”

“Moffs do talk quite a bit,” she says, nodding seriously.

“Yes,” he replies, voice heavy with sarcasm, “it certainly wasn’t due to you scaring them off. How are you getting home? Drellik left hours ago.”

Unconcerned, she shrugs. “I’ll probably just take a cab.”

“Nonsense.” He shakes his head. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Will you, now?” Kryn takes a drink, then leers at him. “How intriguing!”

He chuckles. “You’re becoming predictable. I knew you were going to say that.”

“And yet,” she observes, swirling her drink in its cup, “you still said it.”

“I did.”

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth for a brief second, but her words are teasing when she finally speaks. “Darth Marr, are you propositioning me?”

"Yes." There’s no hesitation, and she can feel his gaze on her, though she can’t see it.

“Oh, good, I was hoping so. Shall we?”


	6. Overdue Payback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few weeks since Kryn's thoroughly inappropriate office behavior, and she's started to think that Marr has forgotten about his threat (promise?) to pay her back. 
> 
> He hasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Can't you help me as I'm starting to burn?_   
>  _Too many doses and I'm starting to get an attraction_

The deep pile of the rug cushions Kryn's feet as she stands in the center of Marr's bedroom, hyper-aware of his looming presence behind her. He slides a finger under the jeweled strap at her neck, gives it a swift jerk. It pops loose, scattering starcrystals and sunblazes. The three straps crossing her back are next, the now-unfastened ends bouncing off her sides. Gems create a constellation in the carpet, twinkling orange and red, purple and blue, as the dress whispers along her body and pools at her feet.

"I owe you, Nox," he says as he prowls around her, the low light highlighting the myriad scars on his torso. "And tonight I will make good on that." He pulls his hand out from behind his back, revealing five credit chips. "You are far too impulsive." Catching hold of her wrist, he balances a chip on each of her fingertips. "Reckless, even." He takes her other hand and places the tips of her fingers on the credit chips, then lifts her hands over her head. "Tonight you will not be."

"And if I drop one?" she asks, keeping her voice steady through stubbornness alone.

"You won't." Moving behind her, he begins removing her ornate hairpins one by one, tossing them toward the far wall. "Or this all stops, and we're done." 

Kryn’s hair cascades down her back. Wrapping it around his hand, he lifts it up and grazes his lips across the base of her neck. Her breath hitches as she realizes that this is going to be considerably more difficult than she anticipated, especially if he keeps touching her like that. 

Releasing her hair, he circles back to the front, trailing his fingers along the swell of her hips, a smile curving the corner of his mouth. “Are we clear?”

Unable to stop herself, she grins. She hasn't been this excited in a long time and every nerve is humming, though she won't give him the satisfaction of seeing that. "Do your worst, _my lord_ ," she says insouciantly.

His face is mere inches from hers as he drags his thumb along her lower lip. "I intend to." He moves in as if to kiss her, pulls away when she leans toward him. "No. Restraint, Nox."

She bites the inside of her cheek but says nothing.

Standing close enough that her breasts brush against his chest and send tingles racing through her, he runs his fingers through her hair, traces the outer edge of her ear, her jawline, her neck with the pad of his thumb. He wraps an arm around her waist, pressing her against him as he kisses the hollow at her throat. She's trying to calm her breathing, trying to ignore the heat building deep in her belly, refusing to be the one to give in first. He barely lifts his mouth from her skin before he presses it between her breasts. She feels him smirk against her.

"Your heart is racing."

Keeping her voice calm is becoming more difficult. "And?"

"I'm just enjoying that you can't hide it." His hand skims across her ribs as he cups her breast, slowly squeezing it. He trails feather-light kisses close to, but never directly on, her nipple. When he repeats this on the other side, she can't quite stifle a whimper. He straightens and leans in close to her ear. 

"Ask." His voice is dark, heavy with lust. "Ask for what you want."

She stands silently, shallow breathing the only outward sign of the effect he's having on her.

"You will, in time," he says, not even a glimmer of doubt in his voice.

"Like hell," she snaps. She sounds far more sure than she feels.

His laugh, low and throaty, fans her desire even more. “I knew you would say that.” He ghosts a fingertip along her spine, making her shiver. “Let’s see how long it takes to change your mind.”

***

The credit chips are still there, she reassures herself. She focuses on the feeling of them on her fingertips in an increasingly futile attempt to ignore the insistent thrumming in her nerves, the roaring inferno in her veins. She has no idea how long it's been, she's nearly lightheaded, and she's only still upright through sheer determination.

Marr is on his knees in front of her, one arm wrapped around her leg to steady her, the other hand gripping her ass. He kisses the curve of her stomach, he kisses her inner thighs, he kisses _everywhere_ but where she desperately wants his mouth to be. She wants to bury her hands in that thick black hair and forcibly move him, wants it so badly that she growls deep in her throat. 

He looks up at her, green eyes sparkling with pleasure under the sweep of his lashes. "Nox?"

She inhales deeply, exhales slowly, strives for casual. "Marr?"

He chuckles, a rumbling deep in his chest that weakens Kryn's knees, and traces a slow, lazy circle around her clit with his thumb, doing it again as she audibly gasps and one leg wobbles. He steadies her with the Force, then looks up again. "Did you drop one?"

"No," she whimpers, her voice strangled. "Gods, no."

"Good," he murmurs as he slides one finger, then two, into her. "I'd hate to have to stop now."

She doesn't answer, her response stolen by yet another explosion of desperate, urgent _need_ that becomes a clamoring, unrelenting drumbeat in every fiber of her being as his tongue takes the place of his thumb and moves in concert with his fingers. Her legs begin to shake, and she wonders how much longer she'll be able to hold out. Her breath is nothing more than short gasps, and it's taking every ounce of her willpower to not simply crumple to the floor as everything in her tightens, and if he rasps his tongue against her like _that_ one more time all the willpower in the world won't save her.

He stops. 

A high-pitched keening falls from her lips and he looks up at her, shoving away the mental image of throwing her onto the bed and having his way with her. "Maybe we should wait for a moment," he says, raising an eyebrow as she emphatically shakes her head. "No?"

"Not again," she whispers plaintively. He's done this every time, she'll be a hairsbreadth away from the orgasm she's begun actively craving and he'll stop, pull back just far enough that she doesn't get it. She's sure she's going just a little mad at this point.

"Ask me," he says again, voice rough, and she can _finally_ hear how how the threads of his control are unraveling bit by bit. Gone is the smooth, smug tone from earlier, and his kisses and touches have all become more demanding. 

"No." Her voice is a reedy whisper and she's amazed that she manages to say anything at all.

He leans in, slides his mouth over her clit, lightly sucks on it, pulls back. "Ask me, Nox."

A shuddering sigh rocks her, but she says nothing.

He leans in again, and the heat of his mouth is back on her. Her hands are shaking and she cants toward him, unable to stop herself even if she'd wanted to do so. To her surprise he doesn't pull away, but instead pulls her toward him, tongue sliding over and around her clit, lapping at her, vibrating against her as a groan of pleasure finally escapes him because he wants this as badly as she does, wants to taste nothing but her, wants her breathy near-screams to be his undoing. She rolls her hips against him, she can't stop watching him, she knows that it will be two or maybe three more times and -

He wrenches himself back, and she snarls her displeasure. His voice is raw, betraying the increasingly ragged edges of his determination, and his eyes are hot. "Ask."

She lets a single credit chip fall. It silently hits the rug. "Are you leaving?"

He knows without a doubt that he isn't, but he's unwilling to concede this contest of wills. "Are you going to ask for what you want?"

"Fuck me," she pleads. "Fuck me until I forget my name."

He looks up at her, desire plain on his face, and gets to his feet, shucking his trousers and kicking them off to the side. He shakes the remaining credit chips out of her hands and takes each of her fingertips into his mouth one at a time, sucking them. She bites her lip as she watches him, skin tingling as another wave of lust explodes through her. "Bed," he murmurs, walking her back until the mattress hits her in the back of the legs. She sits down abruptly and lays back on her elbows. He places his hands on either side of her and lowers himself down until he's close enough to kiss her, muscles in his arms and back flexing. "Enough restraint for today," he says as he inches his way down her torso, leaving kisses the entire way. "Tell me your name. I'll remember it for you when I make you forget it." It's an uncharacteristically flippant request, one he doesn't expect her to fulfill.

She is already clutching the blankets as he kisses her, every touch of his lips a red-hot brand, but she gathers her scattered wits through pure force of will. "Will you tell me yours?" 

He looks up at her from between her legs, eyes widening with surprise, and makes a spur of the moment decision. "My name is Matthius." He leans forward, still watching her. As his tongue caresses her nub again, a small shrieky gasp flies from her mouth. "And you?"

"Kryn," she whispers. "My name is Kryn."

"Kryn," he repeats, her name rumbling in his chest before he returns to his ministrations. His hands dig into her hips to pull her fully against him, lifting her up and settling her thighs on his shoulders. Her hands sink into his hair as he takes longer strokes, dragging his tongue along her cleft with excruciating slowness, and she can’t wait anymore, shifting his head to where she needs him.

"No, not there, right ... right there ... _oh_!" she gasps as he flicks his tongue over her clit, and then words are lost to her as she feels everything pulling taut, every nerve a string stretched too tightly. This time he doesn't stop, tightening his hold on her hips as she thrashes against him, her gasps finally spiraling into a breathy scream as she's rocked by wave after wave of an intense orgasm.

She collapses onto the bed, panting, when he lets her go, her body twitching with aftershocks. He lifts her up and slides her toward the headboard, skimming his mouth along her neck and lightly nipping her chin. "You're not done already, are you?" he asks, smiling as she shakes her head. Spreading her legs, he kneels between them. "Because I've been thinking about this for hours now." He eases into her, closing his eyes at the sheer pleasure of being enveloped by the velvet heat of her core, savoring the sensation because he knows this isn't going to last long.

She arches toward him as he fills her. " _Matthius_." 

He isn't expecting the jolt that races through him when he hears his name on her lips, a name no one has addressed him by in decades, infused with desire and need and the slimmest thread of something _else_. He folds down, pressing their bodies together, slowly rolling his hips against hers. "Say it again, Kryn," murmured against her throat.

She does, reveling in every movement he makes as his hips move. It's a whispered sigh, barely audible, but it sets him aflame and leaves him clinging to bare remnants of self-control. She gasps as his movements become rougher, clutching his ass as a faint crackle of lightning envelops her hands. 

He can't bite back his growl of pleasure. "More." 

She smiles, and the lightning grows brighter. He moans, flexing against her hands, each thrust slow and deliberate. She's rocked backward, a breathless noise escaping her each time he buries himself fully in her, and she angles her hips upward. Lightning dances up and down his skin, following her fingertips, violet and white skittering across his arms and legs. 

Her sliver of concentration is lost and the lightning fades as he kneels upright, hooking his arms under her knees to lift her up farther, and yanks her toward him. She braces one hand against the headboard behind her while she teases her already-sensitive clit with the other, her breath shallow, legs wrapped around his waist. He slams into her harder and faster as he watches her play with herself, fingers circling and stroking and flicking. The muscles on her arm stand out as she pushes against the headboard, hips bucking wantonly against his when he knocks her hand away and replaces it with his own. Her whole body tenses as another orgasm overtakes her and as soon as she clenches around him he climaxes, crying out wordlessly as he trembles with the force of his release, shuddering each time she tightens around him.

"I trust that fulfilled your request?" he asks as he collapses next to her, breathing hard. 

Splayed haphazardly on the bed, a nearly unintelligible "mmm-hmm" is her only answer as her limbs grow slack and her breathing slows. 

Gesturing negligently, he levitates them just enough to be able to turn down the bed. As he pulls the blanket back up around them, he wraps his arm around her and pulls her flush against him. “No one has ever affected me like this," he mumbles as he dozes off. "What in blazes are you doing to me?”

Kryn, swiftly drifting into sleep, smiles. “I don’t know, but if this is the result I’m going to keep doing it.”


	7. Preliminary Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any attempt to redirect and restructure the Empire is of course going to require a plan.

[1]  
Early morning light spills in through the windows as Kryn awakens. Marr is seated at his desk, taking notes on the datapad in front of him as he listens to his messages.

"What time is it?" Kryn mumbles as she props herself up on one elbow, her hair a tangled red cloud around her head.

He glances at his chrono. "Six-thirty."

She makes a disgusted noise and flops back onto the pillow, yanking the blankets over her head. "Who in their right mind gets up this early?"

"I wouldn't know," he says, returning to his datapad. "I was up at five." Pausing the messages, he consults a holographic map on the wall, adds more notes, resumes playback.

"Five!" Kryn sounds scandalized, albeit a muffled sort of scandalized. " _Why_?"

Marr shrugs. "Things to get done." He indicates a doorway on the opposite side of the room. "I left you everything you'd likely need for a shower. If you don’t have other plans this morning, I want to get all our assets on the table. We have a bit of breathing room right now and need to make the most of it."

She flings the covers back with a huff, rolls out of bed, pokes her head into the brightly lit white-and-chrome 'fresher. Soap and shampoo are neatly arranged on the counter. "I can't lie, I was expecting the cheapest towels in existence," she smirks as she looks back at him. “Not these extraordinarily fluffy ones.”

" _No one_ likes cheap towels," he replies without looking up, disdain in his voice.

Kryn chuckles. "Can't argue with that." She picks up her dress, noting the four broken straps. "One problem - you rendered my dress unwearable."

A lopsided smile curves his mouth as he looks up and gives her a deliberate once-over. "I'm not seeing the problem."

She raises an eyebrow, and waits.

He finally laughs. "Well, I tried." Setting the datapad aside, he pulls a white tunic out of a drawer, then tosses it to Kryn. “Here.”

She catches it and holds it up to her, sniggering when she realizes it's going to fit her like a dress. “Thanks. Be out in a minute.” She pauses at the doorway. “Or … do you want to join me?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows at him.

“I ….” He looks from her back to the datapad, finishes what he's typing, stands. “Yes.”

[2]  
He turns on the shower as she smells each product. “Well, I’m going to smell quite manly today,” she chuckles as she picks up the soap and shampoo before following him into the spacious shower. “You could fit five people in here! Do you have shower parties or something?” She sighs with happiness as the hot water hits her. “Ohhhhh. That is _nice_.”

He smiles as he looks her up and down and lathers his hands, the shower filling with the scent of something woodsy. “Come here.”

She takes a step backward to close the distance between them, and he slides his now-soapy hands along her ribs to cup her breasts.

“Oh!” She grins and arches her back as he tweaks her nipples. “Are we going to keep up the ...." She trails off for a moment when he nips at her ear, then attempts to recapture her scattered thought process, "the pretense that we’re in here to get clean, or are we abandoning that?” She wiggles against him, then smirks. “ _Certain_ parts of you have abandoned the pretense, anyway. No restraint today?”

He caresses her hips, pulls her flush against him, bends down to sink his teeth into the curve of her neck. “There’s a time and place for everything.”

Kryn turns to face him, takes a deep breath, trying to convince herself to take things slowly, which means ignoring how his hair is plastered to his forehead, ignoring the water dripping down his chest, ignoring everything she’d like those hands of his to be doing. “And now is the time to … ah … get clean. Yes.” She holds out her hands. “Soap?”

He plucks the bottle off the shelf, squirts some into her cupped hands, watches her work up a lather. He's already been thinking about how her breathy screams will bounce off the shower walls when he fucks her ... and she's wanting to use the shower for its actual purpose. 

After another lingering look at him, she twirls her finger. “Turn.”

Raising an eyebrow and biting back a growl of frustration, he obliges.

She slides her fingers along his neck, down and across his shoulder blades, massaging as she washes, pleased with his appreciative rumblings. Her hands slip down his back to his waist, skim the v at his hips, trail along his inner thighs.

He hisses through his teeth as desire flares and sends a tingle through his skin. “Getting clean, hmm?”

She smiles. “What can I say? I’m easily distracted.” She sticks her hands into the water to rinse the soap off, then circles the base of his cock with one hand, the other wrapping around his torso to pull him back against her. She strokes the length of him, maddeningly slow.

He braces one arm against the shower wall and bites his lip, pressing himself more firmly into her hand.

“Or maybe …” she muses as though she hasn't been planning on this the whole time, turning him back to face her. She sinks to her knees, water coursing over her as she drags her fingernails along his thighs, swirling her tongue around the tip of his cock.

He inhales sharply as she slides her mouth over him, engulfing him in wet heat. Her pleased murmur vibrates against his shaft, and a groan rumbles deep in his chest as he watches her cheeks hollow each time she pulls her head back. All his concentration is focused on staying still, on not fucking her mouth like he desperately wants, but he knows that's a battle he's going to lose.

Reaching down, he pulls her to her feet. "I'm not in the mood to delay gratification if you aren't." His mouth claims hers as he backs her up to the shower wall.

She threads her fingers through his hair as he thrusts a hand between her legs, teasing her clit. "I'm rarely in the mood to delay gratification," she murmurs against his mouth, obligingly raising one leg and grinding against his hand. "What do you have in mind?"

He cups her ass and lifts her … a little too enthusiastically, he realizes a split second too late, as his feet slip out from under him. A startled yell escapes him and his arms windmill frantically, sending the soap and shampoo flying. Kryn clings to him as they crash to the floor, landing on top of him.

A sudden silence fills the 'fresher as an extraordinarily wide smile spreads across Kryn's face.

He lifts his head, scowls when he sees her grinning. "Don’t.”

She slaps a hand over her mouth, desperately trying to muffle her amusement.

He sighs, lays his head back down on the shower floor, and closes his eyes. “Just ... get it over with.”

Laughter explodes out of her, ringing loud against the tiled walls, her shoulders shaking. She takes a few deep breaths, tries to wrestle it under control to no avail.

He doesn't sound nearly as amused as she is. “You didn’t even help!”

This sets off another round of giggling. Kryn finally just lays her head on his chest as she hitches in breaths between laughs. “Are you all right?” she finally manages to ask, sitting up to look him over.

"You are the galaxy’s most _aggravating_ woman.” He makes a face, then sighs. "I’m fine. I’d prefer not to discuss the current state of my pride, however.”

"Now, now," she half-scolds, half-laughs. "You are Sith!" She throws out her arms dramatically. "Surely you can't be done in by a little tumble in the shower." She channels a quick burst of healing energy into him. "There you go, you should be fine.” Leaning forward, she rests her forearms on his chest. “You know, since we’re already down here …."

“No.” He lifts her off of him. “Far too uncomfortable.”

She raises an eyebrow. “But a jungle floor, that’s just fine?"

“It is when you’re so intoxicated that riding tonitrans sounds like a great idea.” He groans and sits up, gets to his feet, reaches down to help her up. “Come on, we’re clean enough. Time for breakfast, then a long-overdue discussion.”

“We could always -”

He holds up a hand to forestall whatever she's going to say. “ _Discussion_ , Kryn,” he insists. “We have things to talk about.”

“ _Yes_ , Matthius,” she says with a long-suffering sigh as she steps out of the shower.

He pulls his towel off the rack, wraps it around his waist. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because things are infinitely more boring when I’m not around,” she replies airily as she sweeps out of the ‘fresher.

[3]  
Breakfast sits neglected in the kitchen.

“Moment of truth, Nox. We need to get everything on the table,” Marr says as he activates a holographic map of the galaxy. “Trust isn’t the Sith way. I understand that. You understand that. But that’s part of the problem. We sit here sniping at each other while the Republic chips away at us." His face twists in disgust as he highlights multiple planets, all Republic victories. "Look at what happened with Ilum and Malgus. We lost that planet because of the infighting he caused. It’s ridiculous, it has to stop, and you and I are going to put an end to it."

"We do control the majority of the power within the Council, when you think about it," she says thoughtfully. "How accommodating of Decimus and Baras to die, leaving you with the entirety of the Imperial military."

"Speaking of Baras," he interjects, "how is it you know Lieutenant Pierce?"

Kryn considers for a long moment, weighing her options.

He eyes her. “I can tell you’re hesitating. I can feel your indecision."

“I just don't know how much I like this idea of being truthful and forthright.” She sighs. “The Wrath is my sister.”

His only outward reaction is a raised eyebrow as he makes a note. “All right. Any other surprises?”

She coughs. “You remember that Imperial agent? The one that dropped off the grid?”

“The one it took me _ages_ to finally locate?” he growls. “Do _not_ tell me you’ve known how to get in touch with her this whole time.”

“Yes. She’s my sister, too.” She folds her arms and scowls at him. “And don't even yell at me about that. You didn’t ask _me_ how to find her, now did you?”

After a long moment muttering under his breath, he chuckles. “Are you the reason she doesn’t like Sith?”

Kryn affects a look of shock. “No! Maybe?” She ponders in earnest. “No, that’s not my fault.” She grins. “She has developed _quite_ the reputation for being a mouthy little brat, though.”

“Why am I not surprised you sound proud of that?” He makes a few more notes. “Any _other_ sisters I need to know about? How many do you have?”

Her voice is matter of fact. “Seven. I’ve lost touch with four of them.”

"Eight children." He can't stop the skeptical expression on his face. "Two, at least, quite gifted in the Force. How does the Empire not have a record of any of you?”

“We grew up on Nar Shaddaa.” Kryn shrugs.

“Ah. That would -" He stops as something else occurs to him. "Wait, weren’t you a slave when you were brought to the academy?”

She nods. “Yes. I got snatched when I was fourteen. It was sheer luck I crossed paths with any of my family again.”

“I see.” He considers. “This is good. This is excellent, actually. That’s a lot of advantages I wasn’t expecting.” Studying his notes, he sighs. "Though it would have been better to know about the Wrath before everyone knew the Emperor had taken complete leave of whatever senses he had." Setting the datapad aside, he examines the map. “Until we get everyone on the same page here, I don’t want to overextend ourselves against the Republic.” He highlights Belsavis and various systems scattered along the Outer Rim. “However, I want Belsavis back. I had to abandon it while you were moving slower than a bantha on Makeb.”

Kryn makes a face. “That was not my fault and you agreed it was worth it, so how many more times are we going to rehash this?”

“When we have Belsavis back, I’ll drop it.”

“Fine, fine.” She turns her attention to the map. "So you want to follow the Mandalorians' tactic of starting in the Outer Rim?"

"For now. It's pretty well-known that the Republic only cares about the Outer Rim when they're forced to." He outlines hyperspace lanes. "Revan's rerouting of space traffic was excellent. I want to keep that for later use." A slight look of disappointment flashes across his face. "Had you not intervened, we would have had it out with the Republic right there over Rishi."

"Which would have been disastrous," Kryn replies instantly, "with nothing to show for it. We can't afford for you to be the indiscriminate weapon." She grins. "That's my job."

"I _know_ ," he half-growls. "The battle cannot supersede the mission. I'm just tired of politicking, of spending all my waking hours fighting not wars, but bureaucrats and infighting!"

"Well, next time I go on a mission, come with me," she says.

He shakes his head. “No. There is too much to do here.”

She gives him a look. “Like what? Why _are_ you staying in the city all the time? We have holocoms, and no one will question where you are."

“And what would you suggest we do?”

Kryn shrugs. “Pick up any intel we can, steal their precious little Jedi artifacts.” She perks up. “Oh! Can we run covert missions on core worlds? That would be so much fun."

Marr snorts. “I don’t think you’re capable of being covert.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “All right, fine. Can we run _overt_ missions on core worlds?”

“No. At least, not yet.” He pulls up his schedule. “Once we have the data from that agent, we can incorporate it into the plan. That meeting is this week, and you need to be there.”

“I am well aware of where I need to be, thank you.” She skims her notes, adds a few things. “Well, it’s a start, anyway. I have a room I’m not using for much of anything. I can convert that into a mission planning area.”

He shakes his head again. “Not secure enough. What about your crew?”

“What about them?” she asks, irritation in her voice. “They’re loyal and reliable and we cannot do this between just the two of us.”

“We do have-”

She holds up a hand. “If you’re getting ready to say that you can press my sisters into service? Good luck with that. Lysch is quite aware of what her duties entail, and Rafana … well, you know her opinion of Sith. Trust me, she will not care that you’re senior Sith on the Dark Council.”

“Very well.” He adds attack paths to the map, scrutinizes them, erases them.

Kryn stands, stretches. “But what about the rest of the Council?” A thoughtful look crosses her face. “Honestly, between our two spheres alone that’s a good … seventy, eighty percent of the Empire’s daily workings? We’ve practically taken it over without doing anything.” She holds up a finger. “One, no one has taken Acharon’s seat, so there’s an opportunity there to have someone in it that we can work with.” A pause. “And that isn’t a complete sadist hated by everyone who comes into contact with him." Another finger. "Two, Ravage … well, you practically do all his work for him." A third. "Mortis is at least reasonable.” She trails off, looks confused for a moment. “What does Rictus even _do_?”

Marr shrugs. “There’s a reason it’s the Sphere of Mysteries.”

A calculating look crosses Kryn’s face. “Interesting. That will be something to investigate further.” She checks her list. “Four, Vowrawn was on your side, but where has he been?”

“No one knows. But he knew we needed more support and more worlds recruited to our cause.”

“Well, isn’t that Ravage’s job? Maybe instead of sitting around letting you do the work, he should actually work on that. Less military strength, more diplomacy.” Her face lights up as an idea occurs to her. “Really, that would be an ideal mission for Rafana. And maybe Ashara.”

Marr adds that to his notes. “Something to look into, undoubtedly.”

“And Acina’s something of a wild card. I'll see what my crew has to say after they bring her that last shipment of the seeds of rage.” She points at his datapad. “Send me your notes. I’ll compile them with mine and have everything ready by the end of the week.”

He nods, taps the screen a few times. “Done.”

“I should get started on this. Can you take me home? Or should I call Andronikos?”

He shakes his head. “No, I can.”

She tosses her datapad onto the couch. “Let me just grab my things and we can go.”


	8. Taking Care of Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Council convenes to receive information from an Intelligence agent. Darth Marr wants all the bases covered. Kryn receives a visitor.

Darth Marr, ready to begin the meeting, looks around and notices Kryn’s vacant chair. He makes a face behind his mask. " _Where_ is Nox?" 

Kryn strides into the Council chamber, latte in one hand and stack of datapads under her arm. "Sorry I'm late." She collapses into her seat with a dramatic sigh, datapads clattering against her chair as she stacks them on the floor. "A meeting ran late."

"That's no excuse, Nox!” Ravage snaps. “As a Council member, you are expected to-” 

“Yes, yes.” She eyes him from over the rim of her cup, pantomiming talking with her free hand and smiling as Ravage’s scowl deepens. “As soon as I care about your opinion, I’ll be sure to inform you.” Her tone becomes much more polite as she turns to face Darth Acina’s hologram. “Acina, I have another package of seeds of rage for you.” 

The hologram smiles widely. “Oh, good!”

“Are you going to be on Dromund Kaas soon, or would it be better if I send one of my people out to the Arcanum?”

Acina shakes her head. “Bring them out to the Arcanum. I don’t know when I’ll get back to the Citadel. Might I also give you a list of supplies I’m running low on?”

Kryn nods. “Send it to me; I'll ensure my crew has it assembled before they leave.” She checks her schedule. “They can be there a week from today.”

“Fantastic,” Acina says as she makes a note. “Tell me, have you made any progress on that text you and Talos were working on?”

“Are you two almost finished?” Marr interjects. “We do have business to conduct today.”

“Darth Marr, are you telling me that arranging the recovery of the seeds of rage the Dread Masters scattered across the galaxy is not Sith business?” Acina’s tone is ice as she folds her arms. “I would expect such nonsense from _other_ members of the Council, but not from you.”

Kryn can hear the undercurrent of irritation in his voice when he answers. “No, Darth Acina, that is not what I’m saying.”

Acina raises an eyebrow, but decides not to push the argument. “Darth Nox, I will contact you later today. _Do_ continue, Darth Marr.”

“As you are all aware, we received information on this supposed ‘Star Cabal’ from the rogue Imperial agent sometime back,” Marr says, sitting back in his chair. “It was, of course, heavily encrypted. Now that we’ve had some time to catch our breath after Malgus and Makeb and Revan, the decryption is finished.”

The door to the Council chamber opens, admitting one of Marr's underlings - human, fidgeting, tensed as if to run at any moment. 

“You positively reek of fear,” Kryn observes. “Why?”

She steps forward, brushing black hair back from her face. “M-my lord, we f-finished the decryption process, but … but-” She trails off, sheen of sweat visible on her brow, and turns the device over in her hands.

Marr's voice is a whip crack in the silent room. “Out with it!”

“It’s just a holocom, my lord!” the woman says in a rush, taking a step backward. “There’s no information on it at all, it’s just a modified Imperial Intelligence holocom!”

The only sound in the Council chamber is Kryn’s laughter. 

Marr is, yet again, grateful his mask conceals the expression on his face as simmering irritation explodes into outright anger. _Kryn!_

Kryn, clearly not sorry at all, wrangles her amusement under control, and inclines her head. "My apologies."

Ravage slaps his hand down on the armrest of his chair, glaring at the quavering woman still standing in the center of the room. “What are you telling us?” 

“That it’s a device meant to send and receive holographic images and messages,” Kryn answers, as though explaining something to a small child.

There was the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber hissing to life as Ravage shoots out of his seat, a dull red flush creeping across his face. “Nox, I have had about enough of you!”

Kryn grins as she nonchalantly rises from her chair. “Well, as I recall, you said there aren’t rules on murder and this room is certainly roomy enough for me to teach you a lesson, so by all means, do your -”

“Sit down! Both of you!” Marr’s command echoes in the cavernous room. He looks back toward the center of the room. “Are you telling us there is no data on it at all?”

The underling gives a quick, sharp nod. “Y-yes, my lord.”

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” Kryn drawls as she sits back down. 

Marr’s response is terse. “Explain.”

Kryn sits forward, punctuating each sentence with a finger tallying the total number of mistakes. “You disband Imperial Intelligence. You toss their best agents in the army, where they’re wasted. You ambush the agent after she has determined that the leadership has made a fucking _stupid_ decision … and you _actually_ expected her to give you the data?” She can't smother her laugh completely, though she tries.

“We expected her to do what’s best for the Empire!” Marr snaps.

“Ah yes, what’s ‘best for the Empire’,” Kryn says in a snooty voice as she turns to face him. “Pray tell, how would this agent know _you_ knew what’s best for the Empire?" 

Ravage stands again. “We-”

She holds up a hand without looking at him, cutting him off. “Sit down, Ravage. This is the agent who refused to kowtow to Darth Jadus, so much so that he choked her into unconsciousness, yet you expected her to instantly acquiesce to your demand for the information she’d completely defied the Dark Council to retrieve. If she'd followed your orders, that organization would still be yanking puppet strings in the Empire.” 

She moves to the center of the room to better address everyone. “I’m well aware that we, as Sith, are superior, but unless you are prepared to slaughter half the Empire to get what you want - a tactic, I might add, that did not make Darth Acharon very popular, and indeed contributed to his demise at the hands of the Jedi - then you might want to figure out how to lead the Empire. It is not leading to sit in your big fancy chair and talk about how much better you are.” She points at Marr. “Darth Marr, you know this. Standard Sith policy doesn’t work if you want to be an actual leader, am I correct?”

His answer is swift and unflinching. “Yes.”

“Darth Nox, are you presuming to lecture _us_ on how to be Sith?” Ravage, apoplectic with rage, is clenching and unclenching his fists.

“No, I am presuming to lecture you on how to _govern_ as Sith.” Her tone is pitying. “Do try to keep up. The way you are doing it isn’t working, if you are being openly defied by non-Sith,” Kryn says, snatching the holocom and lobbing it at Ravage, who swats it away. She takes her seat, looks over at Marr. “There was excellent encryption on that holocom if it took them that long to decrypt it. Perhaps that ought to be the standard.”

“Indeed,” Marr says tightly. He gestures angrily at the door. “Get out of my sight!” The underling promptly exits the room as Marr looks at each Council member in turn. “Does anyone else have any business?”

Everyone shakes their head.

“Very well. This meeting is adjourned.” He stands and stalks out of the Council chamber without another word.

\--

Datapads litter the expansive desk, and the galaxy map has been shoved to the side to clear even more space. A sheet of flimsy is covered in meticulously lettered notes outlining Kryn’s connection to an incredible cross-section of Imperials: moffs, governors, the Imperial Guard, colonies of freed slaves, the Wrath, that damnable Intelligence agent. The list feels endless.

Marr drums his fingers on the desk, mind focused on what little information he has on Kryn’s sisters, and adds a few more notes: _The missing - Nar Shaddaa underground? Slaves? Dead?_ A pause as a worrisome thought occurs to him. _Republic? Find them. Potential liability._ But what to do with them if he finds them? 

He stops, lost in thought as he recalls another detail of that conversation. It wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone not Force sensitive, but there was the briefest of pauses before she told him she’d lost contact with four of her sisters. She may as well have held up a sign proclaiming she was hiding something. Another note: _Already found?_

He’s surprised by the trepidation he feels at this possibility. This is the Empire, after all, and if she’s in contact with the Republic, a betrayal of that nature is punishable by nothing less than death.

_Her wrists are shackled in front of her, the binders pulled so tightly that they dig into her pale, slender wrists. Her lightsaber, confiscated when she was finally subdued, sits on Marr’s desk, its delicate metal scrollwork glinting in the overhead lights. Still, Kryn strides into the cold-walled chamber, defiant and unbroken. A faint hint of **that** smile curves the corner of her mouth, because she knows she’s won. Hours and days spent with a series of inquisitors, enduring tortures and interrogations that would have broken many others, and she told them nothing about any Republic associates she might have. Her crew has vanished, gone to ground or whisked away by Kryn’s allies as soon as Kryn knew the Empire was coming for her. The near-shout ordering an explanation is met with silence as her chin lifts ever-more-slightly into the air._

_Marr steps forward, fingers closed tightly around the hilt of his lightsaber, the detail of the metalwork pressing into his skin. He thumbs the switch when he’s mere inches away from her and it hisses to life, bathing them both in crimson. The moment stretches into what feels like an eternity while he studies the delicate planes of her face, snarling as he fights the urge to trace the curve of her lip as he has so many times in the past, to brush the errant strands of hair back away from her face, to grab her shoulders and shake her until she gives him the answers he wants._

_Duty prevails over emotion and the Empire cannot tolerate traitors, especially not within the ranks of its leadership. He shoves Kryn to her knees, and she drops without a word, without a single flicker of change in her expression. A sweep of his saber, and she falls to the floor, lifeless._

This vision plays out with stomach-churning clarity as his blood turns to ice. He won’t abandon his duty - no one person is more important than the Empire - but he won’t lie to himself and pretend it would be satisfying, either. He wonders - not for the first time - if it wouldn't be better to pull back and keep the alliance less personal, lest feelings cloud his judgment at the worst possible time. The fact that there was even a twinge of hesitation worries him.

He’s startled out of his contemplation when the office door slides open with a soft _hsssssst_ , admitting an underling balancing a precarious stack of datapads. “My lord, here is the rest of the information you requested from Imperial Intelligence.”

Marr points at the empty space on his desk. “Set them there and leave me.” As the door whispers shut, Marr picks up the first datapad, labeled "Balmorra," and absentmindedly scrolls through it, his mind conjuring yet another scenario.

_A low-level Intelligence analyst notices something strange about certain Holonet transmissions. Curious, he latches onto them, worrying at them like a tuk’ata with a squellbug. His face lights up when he finally has enough pieces to put together, enthusiasm turning to fear when he realizes he’s stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have._

_When he’s approached by a sympathetic Sith, full of reassurances and more than willing to take the information off the analyst’s hands, the analyst hands his findings over, grateful to have washed his hands of Sith politics before it bit him in the ass. After all, no analyst wants to be the one responsible for the downfall of a Dark Council member. You never know how long one of their allies can hold a grudge._

_There have been rumors, the kind that are inevitable in Kaas City, that perhaps two Dark Council members are forming some sort of partnership. These rumors, naturally, are a multitude of worst-case scenarios, all proclaiming that these Sith lords are planning to take over and raze the Empire, and the Sith feels justified in keeping this information until the best possible time. So she waits … and watches._

_After months of careful planning, delicate diplomacy, and painstaking strategic moves, the two Dark Council members reveal their alliance and present their plan for strengthening the Empire. When they are convinced their plan is working, the Sith strikes, striding into the chamber unannounced and revealing that Darth Nox colludes with Republic scum, and Darth Marr not only knew about it, but allowed and encouraged it._

_The fighting is fierce, and they take more than a few Imperial Guards and Sith assassins down with them, but in the end Nox and Marr fall, and their names are stricken from the histories in disgrace._

Marr throws the datapad back onto the desk, scattering a stack he’s already read, and heads for the door. “Liability, betrayal, or something else entirely, I have to know.”

\--

Blue light from the holocom flickers on Kryn’s bed. Kryn is stretched out on the bed, snacking on chips while she talks to Rafana.

“My dearest sister, while I applaud your sneaky disrespect of the Dark Council, you have _severely_ pissed off Darth Marr.” She shakes her head at her sister before popping another chip in her mouth. “I just thought you should know.”

Rafana shrugs. “That sounds like your problem, not mine. I’m not handing over a list of Republic enemies to the Empire, just like I’m not handing over a list of Imperial enemies to the Republic.” She pauses for a long moment. “The Star Cabal, they weren’t entirely wrong. You Sith and the Jedi, you’re ruining the galaxy for the rest of us.”

Kryn, insulted, makes a face. “Ruining?”

“Yes! Why are we even fighting this asinine war? Because the Sith have a continued long-standing grudge against the Jedi!” Rafana scowls. "How many people have died because some Sith killed them in a fit of pique? You _idiots_ released the Dread Masters!" She shakes her head, expression determined. “No, I won’t be handing this information over.”

Kryn holds up a finger. “How about this? You give the Imperial list to me, and the Republic list to Raitlia. That’s fair, is it not? The Republic deals with their trash, we deal with ours.”

Rafana is silent, one finger tapping her chin.

“Sister, tell me how I can sweeten this deal for you.” Kryn’s tone is pure honey. “You know me. You know my goal isn’t to grind the Empire under my bootheel. You can ask Ashara. Would she work with me if I just wanted to subjugate everyone?"

“Just … let me think it over,” Rafana finally says. “I’ll stop by in the next couple of days.”

Kryn _feels_ Marr coming before he reaches the apartment. His emotions are a roiling storm, tangles and knots that she can't sort out, a bellow rolling through the Force. “That’s fine, Rafana. I have to go, I’ll talk to you later. ” She disconnects her holocom and opens her bedroom door as he charges through the outer door, intending to meet him in the main room.

Marr's angry shout echoes through the apartment. “Nox!” Heavy armored footfalls cross the uncarpeted floor. There’s a pause as he scans the room, then continues, headed directly for Kryn.

Kryn, irritated at being summoned like a wayward apprentice, abruptly takes a seat on her couch. She picks up a datapad and is lazily scrolling through it when a large shadow darkens her doorway. 

“Nox! Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Marr slaps the inner panel. The door slides closed behind him, almost offensively quiet given his agitation. 

She doesn’t look up, and makes no effort to keep the disdain out of her voice. "Indeed, I’m sure half of Kaas City heard you. However, I am not a kath hound, and I do not come running at your beck and call.”

Marr snatches the datapad out of her hands and tosses it toward the bed. “We need to talk. Now.”

Kryn stands, her folded arms bumping into his chestplate as she stares up at him. “Let’s get a few things straight.” She pokes him in the chest, face full of fury. “This is _my_ house, do you understand? You do not get to come into _my_ house and order me around. You certainly do not get to storm in here in all this -” she flaps a hand at his armor “- regalia and act like this in any way scares me. Now, you can either reach a point where we are conversing on equal footing, or you can leave. Besides, if you were going to glare at me properly you’d take that damn mask off.”

With a deeply frustrated growl, he pulls the mask off and throws it at her bed. “There. Now, we are -”

“Ah ah.” She beckons to the small cafe table and chairs set near the floor-to-ceiling window, voice infuriatingly polite. “Please, Darth Marr, have a seat and let’s discuss this like adults.” Kryn perches on the edge of one of the chairs and folds her hands primly. “Now, what is your issue?”

He drops into the other chair, pushes the piece of flimsy toward her. “We need to discuss your sisters, and what it is you’re hiding from me.”


	9. Things I Nearly Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marr attempts to get the truth out of Kryn.

For a time, the only sound in the room is the susurration of the rain against the windows. Kryn leans back in her chair, slowing her racing pulse through sheer force of will. “And what it is you think I’m hiding from you?”

“Not think.” He taps the flimsy, though he doesn’t take his eyes from her face. “ _Know_. I felt your hesitation. You know something about your four supposedly missing sisters, and you’re not telling me what it is.”

She folds her arms and says nothing.

He resists the urge to throw the table aside and shake her, though his fraying patience shows in his voice. “Nox!”

She remains silent, watching him impassively. 

He leans in and reaches out for her hand but stops at the last second, dropping it to the table. The frustration has melted out of his voice. “Kryn. Please."

Her face softens for just a moment before she glowers at him. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but no.” She pounds a fist on the table. “Has it occurred to you that maybe you don’t need to know? That it isn't important?” There’s a pause as she gazes at him, her expression darkening. “Or are you hoping to find something you can use against me? You know, just in case?”

“No!” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Anything that can be a liability, anything that can be used against _us_ , we have to plan for it, and I can’t plan for it if you won’t tell me!”

She can’t keep the disbelief out of her voice. “You honestly want me to believe that whatever this -” she gestures between them, “- is, whatever we are, that our alliance is more important than the Empire?”

“Of course not. Nothing is more important than the Empire.”

She nods. "I thought as much. And if I told you that all your worst fears are true, that I'm on speaking terms with Republic citizens? Whether actually traitorous or not, the Empire considers it treason. And the punishment for treason is ….”

 _Kryn dead at his feet, smile gone forever._ “Death.” 

“So I ask you, Darth Marr: what would you do?” She folds her arms again, bracing herself to hear him say that he’d strike her down without a second thought.

He stares down at the flimsy and doesn’t look at her when he answers, his voice so quiet she has to strain to hear him. “I … don’t know.”

Her mouth falls open. “What?”

His tone turns brusque. “It would simply depend on if it was strategically sound.” He sits forward. “Will you tell me now?”

“No.” She mirrors his posture. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath, irritated at how easily she gets under his skin. “ _Why_?”

Kryn doesn’t answer immediately, her thoughts in turmoil as she gazes out the window. 

_Rumor is a way of life in Kaas City, second nature when so many people are grasping for power._

_And the latest rumor says that Darth Marr - the Empire’s greatest warfighter, longest-serving head of the Dark Council, subordinate only to the Emperor himself - has knowingly harbored and cooperated with a traitor._

_Capture is never an option. His martial skills are legend. Stories, however exaggerated, about him taking out whole armies are common knowledge in the Empire. The objective, by necessity, is annihilation._

_All Imperial Guard members in Kaas City make their way to the Citadel, moving in small groups to keep suspicion to a minimum. There are more Sith than usual milling about, but Sith are such a common sight in the city that no one says anything. A few people mention the commotion in the Mandalorians’ complex, but Mandos are a noisy bunch anyway._

_The Citadel is almost unnaturally still that afternoon, as though it’s holding its breath._

_As the rain falls, the world explodes._

_Blaster fire, lightsabers, energy pikes, cortosis blades - weapons of every shape, size, and improvisation can be seen in the halls. Groups of Sith - mostly lower ranking apprentices hoping for a chance at glory - are tapped to lead the charge. They fall quickly under Marr’s whirling blade, replaced by others just as eager for their chance to fight a legend. No matter how legendary one is, however, a man can only be sustained by rage for so long. His strikes begin to flag, though enemies still succumb to the ferocity of the blows that do land._

_Flinging lightning indiscriminately, she fights through the hallways, sure if she gets to him soon enough, they can turn the tide._

_She shoves her way through his doorway just in time to see the light die in his green eyes._

When she finally speaks, her voice is uncharacteristically hesitant. “Because I -” She stops as her door opens, thankful for the interruption.

Andronikos is lounging against the doorframe, arms folded. “Hey, Sith, are you all right? I heard shouting, and ….” He stops, eyes widening as he sees Marr, maskless, sitting at the table. 

Unease prickles Kryn’s skin as Andronikos mentally puts everything together and Marr tenses like a coiled spring, hand resting on his lightsaber. 

Andronikos curls his fingers around his blaster grip, though his voice is striving for calmness. “Sith, can I talk to you? Outside?” A pause. “ _Now_?”

She takes a deep breath and stands. “Of course.” Unthinking, she ghosts her fingertips across Marr’s as she rises from her chair. “Pardon me for a moment.”

The door hasn’t even closed behind her before Andronikos has grabbed her arm. “Are you crazy? I mean, I _know_ you’re crazy, it’s part of why I like you, but this is crazy even for you! Out of everyone in the entire Empire, _that’s_ who you’re sleeping with?”

“I didn’t plan it this way!” she hisses, yanking away from him. “I might remind you that me sleeping with him was _your_ idea!”

“I didn't know who he was, and that was for one time, on Rishi! Not here, where he could find out about -” Andronikos stops and takes a deep breath, scrubs his face with his hands. “I thought it was risky when Ca’ii was here, I knew you were acting strangely, but … Darth Marr? Sith, you are an _idiot_ sometimes.” His forehead is creased with worry as his voice drops to a whisper. “Kryn, what do you think will happen if he finds out who she is? Who your sisters are?”

“I … I’ll deal with that when it happens. _If_ it happens,” she says, trying to sound casual. “It may not happen.” 

Andronikos closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “I’ll follow your lead, but sometimes you make that damn hard to do. Just ….” He takes her hands in his. “Be careful. I know you and I aren’t anything serious, and we’re certainly not conventional, but you know I care about you, even when you’re being incredibly reckless.”

“I know. And I will.” She kisses his cheek. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

“All right. I’m holding you to that.” He brushes his lips against her cheek, eyes her closed bedroom door, and disappears back into the main room. 

Marr is standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, one arm braced against the transparisteel, staring out into the rain. He doesn't turn as the door closes behind Kryn, and his voice is unreadable. "What were you saying before we were interrupted?"

"Oh, I was just... uh." She stammers to a halt as she realizes how close she came to revealing far more than she intended. "Never mind. I don't remember. It's not important."

He remains facing away from her. "Are you going to be honest with me now?"

She sighs. "You are extraordinarily stubborn. Why can't you just let this go?"

In a flash he's across the room, mere inches from her. His fingers dig into her cheeks as he grabs her chin and tilts her head up. "Because all variables have to be accounted for." He casts about for something that will convince her. “Because I don't _let things go_. Letting things go is how you get killed.”

She holds his gaze a beat too long parsing his words, and his grip loosens as the atmosphere changes, slipping like quicksilver to something undefinable, more subtle. He can feel her pulse racing as her fingers hook into his belt and pull him closer. Taking the single step, he comes willingly as he removes his gauntlets and casts them aside, his need to touch her instant and intense.

Butterflies take abrupt, frantic flight in her chest as he cups her face, though she is unsure if the tremble she feels in his hand is real or if she’s imagined it. His other hand slips under her tunic and around her waist, the heat of his skin against hers sending a shiver down her spine, and she brushes an errant lock of hair off his forehead. 

Time seems to slow to a standstill as they regard each other, and the first time their lips meet it is refined, almost chaste. She is shimmersilk fluttering against durasteel, flowing water undeterred by the obstacle in its path, and as his heart races he realizes he’s no longer wielding nearly as much control over this situation as he’d previously thought.

The unexpected gentleness as he presses his lips to hers steals her breath away, her fingers tightening on his belt. Everything before this has been power plays and casual entertainment, diversions she has _greatly_ enjoyed, but they all pale against this simplicity and the bloom of flame it ignites low in her stomach. She melts against him, murmuring his name.

His mind is in a whirl when he pulls back and inhales slowly, breathing in the scent so uniquely _her_ \- faint ozone and old tomes, spice and a bare whiff of sweetness. Capturing her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he draws closer, pausing just before their mouths meet. “You make my life … very difficult.” 

The corners of her lips curve upward as she threads her fingers into his hair. “It’s, ah, what I do best,” she replies, willing herself to concentrate on what she wants to say, not on how his incredibly close proximity makes her heart beat like the wings of a trapped snowfeather.

“I -” He abandons words, closes the infinitesimal space between them in one swift movement, her exclamation muffled as his mouth captures hers and his hand tightens on her back. He pulls her flush against him, all of his carefully concealed emotion given voice in how his tongue parts her eager lips, in the skim of his thumb along her jawline, in the hammer of his pulse against her fingertips, delicate on his neck. 

She’s lightheaded, bombarded with sensation: cool armor pressed against her leg, gentle pressure as he catches her lower lip between his teeth, vibration when he can’t stifle a slight groan of pleasure. Her breathless _oh_ breaks the silence as she finally pulls back, and she almost tells him then, nearly tells him everything, common sense shouted down by the euphoria rushing through her. She opens her mouth, then abruptly shuts it, swayed at the last by a twist of fear in her stomach.

He stares at her for a long moment, clearly wanting to say something, but he decides against it, shaking his head. He turns and pulls on his gauntlets, then faces her again, mask in hand. “When you decide you can trust me again, you know where to find me,” he says before fitting the mask to his face and withdrawing something from a pocket. He sets the object on the table, briefly touches her cheek, and strides out of the room.

Kryn watches him until he disappears past the far doorway, then turns.

Five one-credit chips are neatly stacked in the center of the table.


	10. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn decides what to do. One conflict is resolved, at least to a point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut in this chapter is not fluffy, but it is consensual.

[1]  
Kryn is still sitting at the table, absentmindedly rolling the five credit chips in her hand, when Andronikos pokes his head into her room. “So … that didn’t sound like it went too badly. I mean, you two didn’t kill each other.” He slides into the seat across from her.

She makes a face. “I suppose.”

“What are those?” he asks, pointing at the credit chips.

“Oh, he’s trying to make a point about trust,” Kryn says. “I’m somewhat irritated that it’s working.” Tossing the credit chips onto the table, she stares out the window. “I may as well just go talk to him about it now and get it over with.” A hint of mischief crosses her face. “Even though it’s very tempting to just go sit on Nar Shaddaa for a week and make him wait.”

Andronikos grabs her wrist as she stands. "Sith, I don't know. Have you really thought this through?” He gets out of his chair, concern clear on his face. “This could go wrong in so many ways."

Kryn smirks. "Now let's be fair, do I really ever think things through? Anyway, he said he trusts me. Either he does, and things will be fine, or he doesn't and I end this alliance."

"Oh, just like that? It's that easy to just walk away?" His expression is skeptical.

"No." She opens her mouth to elaborate, closes it, then finally shakes her head. "Not remotely.” They cross through the main room in silence. At the door to the veranda, she turns, taking his hands in hers. “But let me pretend, all right?"

There’s a long pause before he speaks. "... All right.” He studies her. “I hope you know what you’re doing, and I hope it goes however you want it to go, Sith. If you need us, you let me know and we'll ride to the rescue."

She grins. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. If it all goes sideways, he’s been stuck playing bureaucrat while some of us have been out doing the real work.” She giggles. “But don’t tell him I said that. Ever.”

He laughs, though the concern doesn't entirely leave his face. “I won’t.” Leaning in, he kisses her cheek. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

She sticks her tongue out at him before turning and heading out into the rain.

[2]  
Kryn pushes her hair out of her face as she steps into the lift, once again regretting not grabbing her cloak before she left. If she thinks about how she’s slightly sodden, then she isn't thinking about how badly her hands are shaking, she isn't thinking about how at best she’s handing him power over her on a platter, and she definitely isn't thinking about how at worst she could end up dead by his hand.

She meditates as the lift rises. Her galloping pulse slows, the knots in her stomach unravel, her mind clears. By the time the lift stops on his floor, she is almost preternaturally calm. She hasn’t gotten to where she is today by cowering or groveling, and she certainly isn’t going to start now. 

Marr is stretched out on his couch, absorbed in a book, when his doorbell chimes. He drops the book onto an empty chair as he crosses the room, then opens the door, eyebrows rising as he takes in her appearance. 

"I wasn't expecting to see you tonight," he says, stepping back to let her in.

She taps the panel to close the door and takes a deep breath, mentally cursing him for wearing nothing but a pair of loose trousers. For a split second, she considers indulging her whim and simply seducing him, but grudgingly admits that that won't solve the problem. 

“I have been in contact, though not for anything serious or political, with my sisters.” A slight smile lifts the corner of her mouth. “Well ... arguments over who’s cooking what for Life Day can get serious. I'm not allowed to bake anymore; apparently cooking with lightning is frowned upon in some less adventurous circles."

His reply is immediate and impersonal, rigidly professional as he takes a step back. “I see.” He folds his arms across his chest and gives no outward sign of the frisson of dread that skitters along his spine. "Continue."

Her smile fades as she refuses to soften the blow of her most closely-guarded secret, her tone as matter-of-fact as when she's giving orders to her crew. “They’re part of the Republic. I will not give you their names, so do not ask.” She takes a deep breath. “Regardless of who I talk to, everything I've ever done has been in service to the Empire.” Her chin lifts, her expression defiant. " _Everything_."

Some people would grovel, begging forgiveness for their transgressions. Most people would never utter such a statement out loud anywhere in the Empire, let alone in front of a member of the Dark Council. If Marr had been asked, he would have said no one in the Empire would have dared come before him and dictate what information they would and would not give him. 

Kryn stands with her shoulders back, her hair windswept, treason falling from her lips, and she is resplendent in her fearlessness. 

For the briefest moment he is transfixed, but his jaw clenches as the moment is subsumed by the familiar writhing hatred of the Republic. White-hot rage is a young man's game, one that Marr set aside long ago in favor of cold calculation and ruthless strategy, but her unrepentant expression ignites a madness he hasn't felt in years, and his fingers itch for the familiar weight of his lightsaber. 

He crosses to her in three strides and his hand closes around her throat, yanking her up toward him. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you now!” His voice is little more than a growl reverberating in his chest, his fingers tightening when he discovers he can't tell if he's infuriated more by her behavior or by the danger it could put her in if she was found out. He can hear the voice of reason in his head - _concern for others is a weakness, weakness can be exploited, don't fall for this trap again_ \- and it only needles him further, his control slipping as the internal conflict rages.

Kryn locks her hands around his wrist, her insolent _no_ barely a gasp as she braces herself, toes not even brushing the floor. “I have never betrayed the Empire, not once,” she croaks. “But if you believe I have ….” She takes as much of a breath as she’s able and flings the words at him, despite how they pierce her heart like a dagger. “Do it, Matthius. Call your saber. Strike me down, and denounce me as a traitor.” She draws strength from the Force, her tone fierce. “If you truly believe me a threat to the Empire, then do your duty and kill me!”

There is a gleam as his saber flies from his desk into his hand, caught and activated in one smooth movement, crimson light surrounding them as he points it at her. The only sounds breaking the heavy silence are her short, shallow gasps and the saber's low hum. They stare at each other as the seconds tick by.

Kryn’s nails dig into his skin, the muscles in her arms standing out as she holds herself up, but even as she struggles, the beauty of his ferocity captivates her: the heat in his eyes, the unconscious perfection of his lightsaber stance, the purity of his enmity as it howls through the Force.

Marr is breathing hard, pulled in two irreconcilable directions. The blinding anger is a relentless drumbeat demanding her destruction, and the only thing stopping him from sating his bloodlust is the bitter acknowledgement that a part of him desperately needs to believe her, cannot accept killing her. He grinds his teeth, trying to shut out the shrill voice in the back of his mind, the one shouting that he’s forsaking everything he’s stood for his entire life.

As Kryn’s vision begins to darken, his face twists. “Damn it.” His voice is raspy as he releases her. She staggers back, coughing, massaging her throat, watching him warily. “Damn it all!” He deactivates his lightsaber and hurls it aside with a wordless shout of utter frustration. Sinking a hand into her hair, he makes a fist around the red strands and wrenches her head back. “Damn _you_ for being the most foolish woman in the entire galaxy!” He slams the flat of his free hand against her chest and backs her up into the wall, his last words a tortured whisper. “And damn _me_ for believing you.” 

His mouth crushes hers in a bruising kiss, stifling her surprised exclamation. The hand in her hair shakes as he channels his fury into the desire that flares to life as soon as his lips meet hers. A finger in the laces of her skirt yanks her hips against his while his tongue plunders her mouth, and her body instantly responds, her breath quickening as she shifts against him. She suppresses her pleased smile when she hears him inhale sharply, then slips a hand down to caress his length, murmuring appreciatively as he twitches under her hand. 

He takes a step back, snatches at the collar of her loose tunic, and gives it a vicious jerk, ripping the thin garment down the middle with a soft _shhhht_. He flings it aside, clamps his hand around her upper arm, and marches her across the room. A single Force sweep clears his desk - datapads, stacks of flimsy, his holocom, and an empty caf cup all go flying, clattering into a far corner. 

As they reach the center of the living room, he pulls Kryn in front of him and shoves her forward. The extra momentum sends her stumbling the last few feet and she crashes into the desk, biting back a pained exclamation, then whips around, openly staring while he slides his trousers off and kicks them aside. She looks him up and down, licking her lips as her gaze lingers on his cock, pulse stuttering as he reaches for her again. 

He yanks her skirt down in one swift motion, his gaze hungry as he catches a glimpse of the wetness on her thighs, then spins her around. Bending her back over the desk, he splays his hand on the small of her back and buries himself inside her in one sharp movement. Her lips part at the brief flash of pain, immediately dispelled by the shockwave of need that engulfs her. He thrusts into her again, and she can't bite back a whimpered sound of pleasure as he fills her. 

That involuntary noise ignites the blood in Marr's veins, the thought of making her do it again consuming him. He pulls her hard against him, then jerks his hips forward, drawers rattling as the desk hits the wall. His groan is part acrimony, part ecstasy, and Kryn keens in response. Soon she’s moving in rhythm with him, a thin sheen of sweat shimmering on her body, fingers grasping for purchase on the smooth surface of the desk.

He's mesmerized by the way her ass ripples as he rides her, blood roaring in his ears and lust coiling hot in his belly, and he's suddenly yearning to mark her, to brand her. He closes his eyes, waits until he's sheathed in her to the hilt, and doesn't hold back when he slaps her ass. He connects, startlingly loud, leaving an angry red print on her pale skin. She isn't expecting the spanking, and her surprised yelp steals his breath as she scrabbles at the desk, whispering his name into the polished surface.

Placing his other hand against the other side of her ass, he gives her a couple of gentle, experimental slaps as he slows down and lazily rolls his hips against her. She jumps each time, almost panting with how badly she wants it, and barely recognizes her own voice, rough and demanding, when she finally manages to speak. "Again."

He leans over her, grabs a fistful of her hair, and pulls her up toward him, savoring how her back arches and her breasts jut forward when he does. He cups one breast, squeezes, grunts with satisfaction as she squirms under him and pushes more fully into his hand. "I didn’t hear you,” he murmurs into her ear, not waiting for her answer before he thrusts into her again, harder than before.

A breathless shriek is forced out of her as the desk smacks against the wall again, and her voice cracks. "Please!"

With great reluctance, he pulls completely out, teasing her slick entrance, licking his lips as she angles back toward him, desperate to have him inside her again. "No," he says, his breathing ragged. "We are Sith. _Please_ is an exercise in futility." 

Raking his nails down her back makes her shudder underneath him and he swallows hard, determined to sound authoritative. "Ask properly." He sinks his fingers into her hips and slowly pulls himself back into her, a low moan escaping him as she breathes _oh yes oh yes oh yes_ against the desk, inhaling deeply as he's once again surrounded by velvet heat. When she doesn't say anything, he taps her ass, smiling wolfishly as she twitches under his hand. "You want another?"

All she can do is nod, chest heaving, hair plastered to her face. 

He caresses her, drags his fingernails along the curve of her hips hard enough to leave red lines, and leans forward. She starts as he touches his lips to her ear, his voice black silk, all hunger and command. "Give me what _I_ want, Kryn. Submit to me."

The words tumble out of her, a sobbing plea as she grinds helplessly against him. " _My lord_!"

He makes a strangled noise as the licentious supplication bursts from her mouth. A deep breath and he slaps the unmarked cheek hard enough to make his hand sting, feels a profound, primal pleasure when the second red handprint immediately appears. She makes a mewling sound as her knees buckle.

“We are not done,” he growls, rocking his hips back and lifting her up. 

She reaches backward and grabs his thighs, groaning as his muscles flex under her hands, jerking him into her. “Then stop talking and fuck me!”

A perverse part of him wants to give her a taste of her own medicine and be as obstinate as possible, but he can't because she’s dripping wet and begging for him and he can barely breathe for how badly he needs her, needs to finally abandon the remnants of his self-control. He digs his fingers into her shoulders and slams into her, feral smile on his face as her head snaps back. He pours everything - the boundless fury, the conflicted emotions, the inferno of _wanting needing craving_ \- into each snap of his hips, descends into little more than animalistic rutting, exults in each wanton scream as she bounces like a rag doll against his desk. 

Kryn, dimly aware that her legs are losing all feeling after being driven repeatedly into furniture, hears herself going hoarse, can't think of anything but the orgasm dancing just out of her reach, almost frightening in its intensity. She shifts and then she’s splintering into a thousand pieces as everything goes white, pulsing around Marr, her whole body shaking. He hisses air through his teeth the first time she tightens around him, trying to ride it out, but bellows her name and spills warmth deep within her the second time. He shudders each time she contracts, groaning helplessly as he's rocked by wave after wave of pleasure. After a long moment he finally steps back, bracing one hand on the desk.

Her legs turn to jelly and she’s sliding toward the floor when he sweeps her up into his arms. She gasps in surprise, flinging her arms around him on sheer instinct. "What are you _doing_?"

He doesn't immediately answer, still breathing hard as he carries her through the living room and sets her down on the oversized couch. He paces for a moment, and then his eyes light on a cut crystal bottle sitting in the kitchen. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he heads toward it.

Kryn sighs contentedly as he strides away, slumping back against the cushions. “If you’re still going to kill me ... I have to confess, I’ll probably be too blissed out to notice.” She lifts her head as he kneels in front of her, holding the bottle and two shot glasses.

“Drink?” he asks conversationally.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re certainly … less angry than you were. It's incredibly suspicious."

"Nonsense." His voice is matter-of-fact. "Committing to a course of action includes committing to the consequences. I have made my choice. All that remains is to see the results of my clouded judgment."

"Just like that?" she asks, echoing Andronikos. "You decided to not kill me, and so that's it?"

He affects a hurt look. "You left out the part where I fucked you on my desk. I thought you liked that part."

A smile lights her face. "Oh, I did." She jerks her chin toward the bottle. "And what are you planning to do with that?"

"I'll show you." Mischief is bright in his eyes as he tips the bottle ever so slightly between her breasts, avidly watching the iridescent green liquid make its way along her body and finally pool on her stomach.

She watches, mesmerized, as he bends, presses his lips to her stomach and swirls his tongue around her navel, forgets to breathe as he licks the shimmering alcohol off her skin in one slow, smooth movement. 

He straddles her and pauses, a knowing smile on his liquored mouth. “Do you want a drink, Kryn?” 

Her lips part as he lowers his mouth to hers, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her up against him, his skin warm on hers. He tastes of shuura and spice and she kisses him hungrily, pulse pounding, surprised by an unexpected fluttering rush of tenderness.

She pouts when he pulls back. He’s humming with residual energy as he stands, holding out his hand. “How quickly can you get your armor?” he asks.

"My ...." She shakes her head, attempting to redirect her thoughts. Placing her hand in his, she lets him help her to her feet, inhaling sharply as her legs wobble. He pulls her flush against him, one arm around her waist. “It should only take me a few minutes. I’ll either need to pick it up or have someone bring it here. Why?”

He rests a hand on the small of her back and guides her to the wall, then activates his galaxy map, tapping a small planet in the Outer Rim. His face is alight with excitement. “I was going to tell you about this in the next few days, but we received some intel that the Republic is planning on sending forces out here to pick up … something. We should beat them to the punch.”

Kryn takes a step back from him and eyes him curiously. “Are you feeling all right? You do understand you’re suggesting something spontaneous, yes?” Grinning, she goes on tiptoes and presses the back of her hand to his forehead. “No, no fever.” 

“On second thought ...." He's lost in thought for a moment, staring out the window at the lights of the city. "We'll go tomorrow.” 

"Why? I can get my armor tonight."

He sweeps her back up into his arms. "No. Tonight we'll relax."

She doesn't even argue as he carries her down a hallway and past a well-appointed training room. Kryn catches a glimpse of training droids standing in a neat line along one wall and a vast array of weapons on another as they pass the wide doorway. Her mouth drops open when he comes to a stop in a black-tiled room containing the most extravagantly luxurious bathtub she has ever seen, oversized and deep, crafted from reddish-black stone. The lighting is serene, glowing in gold fixtures, one wall dominated by a large cabinet and a jet-black sink and counter.

He sets her on the countertop and turns on the water, then opens the cabinet, extracting two towels and a small bag. “Tilt your head up?” he asks as he stops in front of her.

She complies, staring at the ceiling as his fingers drift over her neck, shivering when his lips replace his fingertips. “ _Ohhh_.”

His voice is infuriatingly clinical as he steps back, seemingly unaware of his effect on her. “The bruises on your throat are already turning purplish, and even if you don’t feel it yet your legs are going to be miserable soon.” He rummages through the bag until he finds a vial of green liquid and adds it to the rising water. “This should be enough kolto. Maybe not to heal you completely, but enough to relieve all but the most superficial symptoms.” He holds out his hand. “Careful getting down.”

“I’m fine!” she snaps as she slides off the counter, scowling when her legs give out under her.

He chuckles low in his throat as he catches her, shaking his head. “Of course you are. Come on.” He walks her over to the bathtub, turns the water off, and helps her in.

Kryn sighs happily as she sinks into the warm water. “Watch out, now I know your secret weakness,” she murmurs as she slides forward. “Sit with me?”

His heart jumps into his throat as he gets in behind her, though he’s pleased to hear his voice is steady. “Do you? What is it?” He wraps an arm around her and pulls her up against him. 

“It’s clearly ‘freshers,” she says after a long moment, resting her hand on his, her head lolling on his shoulder. “You have a massive weakness for fancy ‘freshers.” She snickers. “Don’t let Chancellor Saresh find out.”

“Oh yes, it’s ‘freshers,” Marr says, relieved. “Certainly not anything or ... anyone else.” There’s a pregnant pause. “Chancellor Saresh isn’t your sister, is she? Since you’re apparently related to half the galaxy?”

Kryn makes a face. “I am not. No, she isn't my sister. Nor am I related to Satele Shan, in case you were going to ask about her next.”

“Good thing.” A beat, then he continues, deadpan. “That would have made kissing that _agent_ rather awkward.”

Water sloshes over the sides of the tub as she whips around to look at him, her mouth agape. “You _were_ jealous! I knew it!"

A growl rumbles in his chest, his mouth twisted in distaste. “He wasn't worthy of you. I wanted his taste out of your mouth.” A note of pride creeps into his voice. “I got what I wanted.”

Her fingers tingle as she thinks back to that night on the _Indomitable_. “You certainly did. Several times over, as I recall.”

He tilts her head to the side again. “Your bruises are looking a lot better. How are your legs?”

She extends one out of the water, pointing her toes and rotating her ankle, then bends her knee and pulls it back toward her shoulder. She pretends not to notice how he watches this display with great interest. “Good.”

He nods, satisfied. “Excellent. Come here.”

She slides up next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“Have I ever mentioned that you make my life … very difficult?” He throws an arm around her shoulders. 

She tsks at him. “It’s too bad you didn’t say ‘hard’ there. I’d have had the perfect retort.”

There’s a brief pause, and the smallest of sighs. He's regretting it even before he says it. “Have I ever mentioned that you make my life … very hard?”

Kryn barely manages to stammer out “I make lots of things very hard!” before she collapses in helpless giggles, clinging to him as she howls with laughter, his pained expression only making her laugh harder.


	11. A Brief Diversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A diversionary op goes wrong, but the trip isn't a complete loss.

Kryn is angry. 

No. 

She isn't angry. She is seethingly, blindingly _irate_.

This was supposed to be a simple mission to steal some archaeological finds out from under the Republic, an easy diversion and an excuse for Kryn and Marr to get out of the capital for a few days before they begin setting their plan for the Empire in motion. 

It had gone astonishingly wrong from the beginning. A shoddy intel report (and whoever had compiled that is living on extremely borrowed time; Kryn will see to _that_ if she has to return from the grave to do so) meant that the six guards on the perimeter were actually twenty, meant that the floor plan for the building wasn’t the correct one, meant that a wrong turn left them surrounded and hunkered down behind a fallen cement pillar hashing out something resembling a new strategy. 

Marr is studying his hasty sketch of the layout of the building. “Nox.”

Lightning writhes around Kryn as she unleashes a steady stream of invectives, pausing only to look over at him. “ _What_?”

“We can’t deal with the Intelligence failure until we get out of here. Focus your anger. Between your combat style and mine, we are going to be better off bringing them all up to us.” He points out the hallways surrounding them, carelessly deflecting the blaster bolts that fly toward him when he pokes his head over the pillar. “The Republic military doesn’t have the discipline of Imperial troops, and _you_ ," Kryn can practically hear him smile, "can be utterly infuriating.”

“So get out there and taunt them? On it. We put them down and get this mission over with, and then we’re going to talk to Lana.”

He nods. “Whenever you’re ready.”

A nearly-transparent static bubble envelopes Kryn as she vaults over the pillar. “Come on, you Republic bastards! Are you going to hide or are you going to fight?” She leaves her lightsaber clipped to her belt. “I don’t even have my weapon out! Take your best shot, dogs! Or are you too cowardly to do even that?”

There's a hail of blaster fire from all sides. It ricochets off her shield as she casts a Force storm into the right hallway, blasters and assault cannons falling silent as electricity courses through their wielders. Kryn smiles savagely. “Well, you're dead, but at least you’re not _cowards_.” With a gesture, she pulls the sides of the hallway down, collapsing it.

Marr, having leapt past her down the central hallway, is running through a rapid-fire set of aggressive lightsaber sequences, each slash of his crimson blade finding its target. Blaster fire peppers his position from farther along the hallway, sparking as it hits his armor. “Nox, shield!” 

“Here!” she yells as she flings one over him before sending another lightning storm down the left hallway to paralyze the advancing troops. “Hang on!” She slides into the shield, going back to back to watch his flank while channeling the Force into him, relieving muscle fatigue and knitting the wound from a blaster shot that had grazed his neck. Troopers thunder around the corner, headed for their position. 

“More?” It's more a growl than a question.

She grins. “You know you’d be disappointed if there weren’t.” 

Troopers stagger back as Marr's bestial roar reverberates through the Force, and are swiftly cut down as he moves between them, wielding his lightsaber like a scythe. With a well-practiced hand movement, Kryn summons a swirling Force cloud and calls down yet more lightning directly above her head. Slender, deadly branches explode in a shower of sparks against the floor, wrap around her shield as they’re absorbed, and indiscriminately strike the surrounding troopers, leaving them unmoving and smoking. 

Marr, ducking back into the shield as the storm starts, points as he impales an assault gunner making a run for their position. “Medic!”

Kryn turns to look where he's pointing; violet and white erupt from her hand as she thrusts a single lightning bolt at the trooper at the back of the melee. He drops like a sack of duracrete, medical supplies falling out of his hands and clattering across the stones. 

Marr's attention is focused just past her. “Down!” As Kryn drops into a crouch, he decapitates a trooper trying to sneak up on her.

Kryn stands and gives the headless corpse a vicious kick, then glares at the last cluster of troops behind it, all of whom suddenly appear to be rethinking their decision to advance. “I don’t care that you’re backing away _now_ ,” she snarls as she flings chain lightning at them. She folds her arms and watches it jump from person to person, nodding in satisfaction as each one collapses. The hallway, redolent with ozone and blaster fire and blood, falls silent until a comlink attached to the armor of one of the fallen lieutenants squawks. She pauses, picks it up, cheerily answers it. "Hello!"

The reply is brusque. "You're not Lieutenant Goss; who is this?"

"Oh, is that who I took this from? No matter. I am allowing you the singular pleasure of addressing a Dark Lord of the Sith." Kryn bows, not remotely caring that the person on the other end can't see her. She also ignores Marr, shaking his head at her in exasperation. "Suffice to say, your adorable little attempt to stop us has failed." She eyes the group of troops at the far end of the hallway. "You may either call off your remaining men now, or lose them as well."

"Call off? It'll be a warm day on Hoth before we retreat from Imps!" the voice shouts before terminating the connection.

"And we were all getting along so well on Yavin 4." Kryn shrugs, not sounding sorry at all. "Let's finish this."

As they advance down the long hallway, Marr's mind brushes against Kryn's. _Darth Nox_. A pause. _Kryn. I've found that I'm having ... unexpected, and persistent, feelings about you_. There’s a second pause, laden with uncharacteristic hesitation. _For you_.

Kryn is suddenly grateful that her headpiece hides the giddy smile that blossoms on her face, though it doesn't hide the little thrill that dances down her spine and sings through the Force. _Is that so, Darth Marr?_ She conjures a storm-filled sphere as they walk. 

_I also find that I'm unsure what to do about them_. He launches himself at the group of soldiers, lightsaber blade a blur as he descends into their midst, grace and ferocity intertwined in each of his attacks. 

Kryn flings the sphere down the hallway and shields herself again, tendrils of crackling dark side energy snaking around her body as thunder echoes off the walls and staggers the troopers. _Well, what do you **want** to do about them_?

He can’t quite keep the amusement out of his tone. _Perhaps I should wing it. Someone told me I ought to try that once in awhile._ With each swing of his lightsaber, bodies fall with muffled thumps on the stone floor. _Apparently I’m very set in my ways and need to branch out._

 _That person sounds incredibly wise. We could wing it together._ She grins as her burst of lightning explodes on the last trooper, instantly killing him. _After all, I find myself in the same situation when it comes to you, Matthius_. 

She’s only able to catch a bare flash of elation before he’s all business again, deactivating his lightsaber and nudging one of the corpses with the toe of his boot. "That looks like all of them," he says. "I'll check the officers for any pertinent intel while you collect your artifacts."

Kryn sticks her head into the room the troopers had been guarding. “How interesting!” she exclaims, pulling out a datapad. “It looks like some kind of ritual room.” She flaps her hand vaguely in the direction of the fallen Republic troops. “Go do what you have to do, I’ll be in here.”

She has a neat stack of tablets collected by the time he returns. ”Oh, I didn’t see this!” She crouches down to look at an engraved inscription near the floor. “I wonder what this does.”

“I wouldn’t touch that -” Marr starts, sighing as he hears a click. “But of course you did.”

There's a grinding sound as the door to the room slides closed, leaving a seamless wall. Kryn’s face lights up. “Fascinating!” She moves to compare the different pillars and inscriptions.

“Nox!” Anger simmers just below the surface in his voice. “Why did you even press that damn thing?”

She removes her headpiece, sets it aside. “Well, why not? It clearly did something. All the inscriptions around it hint that it was hiding something. It’s very possible that solving this will net us something better than some tablets.” She gestures at the now-closed door. “All those Republic troops were here for a reason, weren’t they? Let’s find out what that reason was.”

He stalks across the room and shoves at the door, growling when it doesn’t move.

Kryn laughs. “Brute force isn’t going to open it. What is it with you warrior types, anyway? Not everything depends on how much you can flex your muscles.”

“Just once,” he mutters, mostly to himself, “just _once_ , it would be a welcome change of pace if you could take something seriously.”

She stands up, glowering at him. “I _am_ taking things seriously, because I’m doing my _job_. Maybe you could remember that some of us have duties that involve more than swinging a lightsaber at things or sitting in meetings.” She turns back to the pillars and her notes, not even trying to muffle her disgusted noise. “Now if you could refrain from interrupting me for maybe a solid minute, I could get something accomplished.”

“Oh, something else? Maybe there are some traps you could set off under the guise of doing your job,” he huffs. 

Kryn sets her datapad on the nearest pillar and stomps across the room, coming to a stop when they’re less than two inches apart and scowling up at him. “Clearly, you are having a difficult time wrapping your pretty little head around the fact that I actually need to work here, never mind that this would go faster if you would help me.” Her tone becomes extremely patronizing. “I’ll make you a deal. We get out of here, and once we’re back on the ship you can say every little thing you need to say,” she says, patting his cheek - or where his cheek would be if it wasn't covered by a mask. She turns on her heel, heads back to the pillar. Consulting the datapad, she points across the room. “Go rotate that pillar 45 degrees.”

“I’m the senior member of the Dark Council,” he snaps. “I’m not your errand boy.”

She stares at him, disbelief on her face. “Are you kidding? You’re so bent out of shape about this that -” She stops, shakes her head. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.” She channels the Force, rotates the pillar, consults the datapad before rotating the other three in turn. There's a click and a grinding noise from the center of the platform as a panel slides back to reveal a holocron.

Kryn grins triumphantly as she crouches to inspect it. “A Jedi holocron! This is why they had so many guards here.” She trails off, tapping a finger against her lips. “But where were the Jedi?”

A faint voice reaches them from the other side of the stone wall, young and clearly anxious. “Master, what happened here?”

Another voice, deeper and much more serene. “Captain Parthan said a Sith answered Lieutenant Goss's comlink. Calm yourself, my padawan. This will all be solved in due time.”

The padawan shows no signs of calming down, his voice rising in pitch. "What are Sith doing here? How would they even find out about this place?"

Marr points at the holocron, then at Kryn, then at the door. She removes the holocron and slides it into a pouch, then fits her helm back onto her head. As she moves to stand slightly behind Marr, the door grinds open, revealing the master and the padawan: a tall, thin Mirialan with short-cropped black hair and a slight human boy of maybe fifteen with a long blond braid. 

"Darth Marr!" The padawan’s voice is equal parts anger, fear, and awe as he reaches for his lightsaber with a trembling hand. 

The Mirialan studies the pair of Sith. "Our orders cooperated on Yavin 4. Surely we can come to -"

Brilliant lightning erupts from Kryn’s arched fingers as Marr throws his lightsaber, and the Jedi collapses with a wordless cry of surprise, her saberstaff rolling across the stone floor. "Consider that a no," Kryn says, stopping the saberstaff with her boot and ignoring the stunned padawan. “I … kind of expected her to put up more of a fight. That was rather disappointing."

“You’ll pay for that!” The young man finally draws his lightsaber and brandishes it at the two Sith, albeit in a jittery, jumpy sort of way.

Kryn looks at Marr. “Did you hear all that anger?”

“But no move to attack.” Marr shakes his head. “He’d never make it through the academy.”

Kryn looks at the padawan and shrugs. “Well, he's right. So, I’m assuming you’re here for the holocron. You’re not going to get it, but what happens next is up to you.” She holds out her hands. “Make your stand to defend your fallen master, which would be mildly impressive at best ... or hightail it out of here and tell your order that your mission was a failure.”

“I -” The lightsaber in the padawan’s hand shakes as his eyes dart between the two Sith. “You -” He turns and speeds down the hall.

Marr can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “Really, Nox? You’re going to let him run back to the Jedi?”

She snorts. “No, not really. What kind of Sith do you take me for?” The smell of ozone surrounds her as she yanks her hand downward, dropping the padawan with an explosion of lightning. “I can’t believe you’d think that’s what I was doing. That hurts.” 

He folds his arms, clearly spoiling for a fight. "You'll have to pardon me if I question your judgment in light of recent events."

She knows exactly what he’s talking about, but she’s not going to pull punches if he’s not going to let things go. “Oh, like when I told you I had feelings for you?” She snatches off her headpiece to glare at him. “I’m starting to agree! I should have waited until after you threw your tantrum about a closed door. Then I would have kept my mouth shut.”

“It was not a tantrum. I just cannot understand how you can just ….” He pauses, grasping for words. “How you can just _flit_ through life without once considering the consequences!”

“Did it ever,” she snaps, “even _once_ , occur to you that I had already considered the consequences and weighed the prize worth the trouble?” 

He’s quiet for a long moment as they stare at each other. When he finally speaks, he sounds almost amused. “Are we still talking about the holocron?”

“I -” The corner of her mouth twitches briefly before she curls it into a snarl. “No, you don’t get to be charming now.” She wags a finger at him. “You wanted a fight? You’ve got one.” She picks up the saberstaff and hooks it to her belt, then steps over the fallen Jedi. “Perhaps we can continue this on the ship?” Her tone turns snotty. “Unless, of course, we need to carefully consider the consequences of leaving this room.”

“Now who’s throwing a tantrum?” He strides past her, deliberately putting extra length into each step and turning when he reaches the end of the hallway. “Can’t keep up?”

“And you’re the de facto leader of the Empire,” she mutters under her breath as she stalks past him, nose in the air. “Disturbing, that.”

“I simply thought I’d stoop to your level,” he says mildly. “You’ll have to forgive me, it is quite far down.”

She stops, mouth thinning to barely a line as she turns to face him. “Was that a _short joke_?”

“Was it?” His tone misses innocence by a wide margin. “I don’t know, I’m just winging it. Wasn’t that your advice?” He smiles behind his mask as he watches frustration play across her features. “I’m starting to understand why you do this. It does bring a certain measure of visceral satisfaction.”

“Oh, good. My life is complete now that you understand why I do things,” she says, deadpan. “Indeed, I was losing sleep over the possibility that you weren’t comprehending my motivations. How long are you planning on keeping this up?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Why?”

Her response is immediate. “I just want to know how long I have to tune you out while I enjoy a peaceful, quiet ride back to Dromund Kaas.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m reasonably sure I’ve been more flippant in the last ten minutes than I have in the last ten years, and quite frankly, it’s exhausting. Not to mention, I don’t think you’re capable of being stoic and serious for an hour, let alone an entire day. Shall we call this one a draw?”

“I’ll agree to a truce … for now.” She considers. “But I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” A smile twitches her mouth. “Maybe some other things, too. We’ll have to see.” She dons her headpiece. “Shall we get out of this crumbling ruin and go home?”


	12. Gathering Intel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to deal with the intelligence failure and recover the Black Codex information.

[1]  
Marr, a habitual early riser, has been awake for the last forty-five minutes, one arm draped over a sleeping Kryn while he reads a book. He looks up as the holocom on the bedside table chimes again, for the tenth time in as many minutes. She remains blissfully asleep, and he gives up hoping that she’s ever going to wake up to answer it.

“Your holocom is chiming.” He jostles her. “Answer the damn thing, it’s been going off for ten minutes.” 

She mumbles something unintelligible into his side before burrowing even closer to him, wrapping her leg around his. A smile has just touched the corner of his mouth when it chimes again. He sighs, hoping his next gambit works. “If you don’t, I’m going to.”

Her response is barely audible, her breath warm on his skin. “‘s it black, or black and silver?”

“Black and silver.”

A sleepy scowl twists her features as she reaches backward, one hand creeping out from under the comforter to fumble on the bedside table behind her until she punches the button with a little more ferocity than required. “This better be good,” she grumbles as she rolls over and props herself up on an elbow.

Rafana’s hologram appears, flickering blue in the relative darkness of the room. “I have arrived at what I believe is an acceptable solution regarding the Black Codex,” she says without preamble. 

Marr sets his book down and looks over, suddenly interested in the conversation.

“Good morning to you, too, _Ghost_ ,” Kryn mutters, emphasizing Rafana’s informal title as she stares blearily at the chrono on the bedside table, making a disgusted noise when she realizes how early it is. “Is there some reason this couldn’t wait until a normal hour?”

“I'm pulling an all-nighter, and I was planning on catching you before you started doing … whatever it is you do with your little relics, though I had assumed you’d be alone.” Rafana narrows her eyes. “Kryn, are you with that guy Ca’ii won’t shut up about?” She can’t quite mask the disdain in her voice. “That Sith you met on Rishi or whatever? She was positively gushing the last time we talked, it was nauseating.” 

Kryn, never one to miss a chance to make mischief, perks up. “How many details do you want, Rafana?” Her tone is very much one of _I dare you_. "I'm more than happy to share every last intimate one, right down to how his -"

"No, no, not necessary!" Rafana says hurriedly, shaking her head. “Honestly, it was just a simple question. Not to mention, I was under the impression that your boss was simply salivating for this information.”

“There is no such thing as 'just a simple question' with you, and Darth Marr is not my boss,” Kryn snaps, ignoring Marr’s look of faux outrage. "Are you going to tell me why you called?"

Rafana immediately shifts into a more professional tone. “Yes. We will meet on neutral ground. I will give you my list of Imperial Star Cabal members, and I will give a Republic representative my list of Republic Star Cabal members. Do you think you can manage to behave yourself long enough for this exchange to happen?”

“Pardon you, I'd like the record to show that I cooperated very politely with Republic representatives on Yavin 4,” Kryn says, pretending she doesn't hear the snarky _especially with certain agents_ behind her. “This is acceptable. When would you like to do the exchange? I assume Nar Shaddaa is the neutral meeting ground, but I'm going to need some time, as I'm not getting back to the capital until later today and I have business to attend to before I can leave again.”

“That's the plan, but let me get in touch with my Republic representative,” Rafana says. “I’ll send you a message when I have further details.”

“Very well.” There’s a short pause. “I’m glad we were able to come to an accord on this.”

Rafana is silent for a great deal longer, as though already reconsidering her offer. “Indeed. I’ll be in touch.” She disconnects, hologram disappearing.

“Nar Shaddaa, then?” Marr says, pulling her back against him.

“Who says you’re going? Can you miss that many meetings?” She twists around in his embrace, laughing as he starts to grumble. “You can come but you can’t start trouble. Just stand there and ….” Her fingertips glide over the clearly defined muscles on his chest. “And, ah, look imposing.” She's just threaded her fingertips into his hair, her lips pressed to his, when her holocom chimes again. Irritation is clear on her face as she pulls back. “Ugh, she said she was sending a message!” She rolls over again and punches the button.

Rafana appears. “My other contact is already on Nar Shaddaa for unrelated business, and can extend their stay until you arrive and this business is concluded. Are you leaving this morning, then?”

Kryn shakes her head. “Have to refuel and restock the ship, and I have a meeting, so it will be this afternoon at the earliest, if nothing else comes up. I hope your Republic contact isn’t going to be as touchy as most Republic folks are around anyone on the Dark Council.”

“I’m sure we can get through this with a minimum of drama.” Rafana sighs. “At least, I hope so.” She disconnects.

Kryn throws the holocom across the room, unconcerned when it bounces off the wall and rolls under her desk. “I’m not answering it again this morning.”

Marr boosts himself into a seated position. “Kryn.”

She’s burrowing back under the blankets, determined to sleep until her alarm goes off. “Yes?”

“Do you know who the Republic representative is?”

“No. I’m pretty sure it won’t be a Jedi, at least. Rafana’s just not a fan of Force users in general.” Her brow furrows as she considers. “Although she may bring one simply because a Sith is going to be there. No telling what fit of pique grabbed that girl this time.”

He switches off the alarm and throws back the blankets, earning a fierce glare from Kryn. “Come on. We’re going to be landing in about four hours and we're already awake, we may as well get up." He stretches, pretends he doesn't notice Kryn watching him doing so, then stands.

“I _loathe_ morning people,” she mutters after he gets off the bed, putting a pillow over her head. “You’re all simply intolerable.”

He leans over her, kisses the delicate pulse in her neck as he skims a palm along her ribs. "Perhaps I can persuade you to get up?"

Her giggle is muted by the pillow. "This is how you get me _into_ bed, not out of it. Don't you know that by now?"

"Hmmm." He presses a kiss to her sternum and is rewarded with a muffled gasp. "You and me in the galley with a pot of fresh caf?"

She makes a face even though she knows he can't see it. "That might work, if you positively insist on not staying in bed and continuing to kiss me."

He rolls out of bed, crosses the room, and tosses a shirt at her. “Here's a tunic."

She doesn’t even attempt to catch it, instead letting it land on the pillow. “You know this is my ship, right? I have clothes here. And I don’t smell caf yet."

He leans against the door frame, arms folded across his chest, and says nothing.

"I can feel you making a face at me, stop it.”

He chuckles. “Fine. I’ll go make the caf. But when I come back, you have to get up.”

Heaving a thoroughly exaggerated sigh, she chucks the pillow at him, missing him by a wide distance. "All right, all right. Get out of here.”

When he returns, Kryn is still in bed, her breathing slow. "If that's how you want to do this," he mutters to himself, "then that's how we'll do this." He takes a deep breath and unleashes a bellow from deep in his chest. "Acolyte!" 

His voice rings off the durasteel walls as Kryn bolts upright and flings herself out of bed, looking around. Her face twists in a scowl when he doesn't even try to rein in his laughter, finally collapsing into a chair. "Really? I almost had a heart attack!"

"Yes, but you're out of bed, aren't you?" he says, amusement still clear in his voice even after taking a few deep breaths. "The caf is ready."

Kryn stomps across the room and yanks a simple dress out of the disorganized closet, thoroughly in a snit as she pulls it over her head. She's sweeping past him when he grabs her wrist and pulls her down onto his lap.

"Come now, don't tell me you can dish it but you can't take it. I expected better from you," he teases before his mouth is on hers and he captures her bottom lip between his teeth. He feels her lean into him, and is pleasantly surprised when she returns the kiss and skims her fingers along his jaw. 

"I thought you'd learned your lesson about not making me plot revenge on you," she murmurs in his ear, "but I see that is not the case. Retribution shall be swift and unforgiving, Matthius." She pats his chest and sits up, smiling pleasantly. "Shall we go have our caf?"

[2]  
Kryn strides down the Fury’s ramp, signaling to the attendant in the hangar. “I need my ship refueled and ready to depart by this afternoon.”

The attendant snaps to attention, looking from Kryn to Marr and back. “We’ll start straightaway, my lord.”

“See that you do. Contact me when you’re finished.”

“Yes, my lord!” He bows, then speeds across the hangar toward two other attendants standing idle.

Kryn taps buttons on her comlink as they make their way through the spaceport, the crowds parting and flowing around them, the murmurs of _my lords_ white noise in the background. Lana answers almost instantly. “Darth Nox.”

“Lana. I need you to find out who compiled the data for the Tangrene raid.” A pause. “Have them report to your office, please, as I greatly desire to speak with them this morning.”

“It will be done as you say,” Lana responds. “I believe it was one of our newer recruits."

“At least it wasn’t a seasoned analyst,” Kryn says. “I would be sorely disappointed if it was.”

“I shall see you when you arrive, my lord.”

Kryn pauses in the speeder lot. “Are you coming with me to speak to Lana?”

Marr shakes his head as he secures his bag to the back of his speeder. “No. I need to see what I missed while we were gone, and get my affairs in order before we depart again.”

“You don’t have to come,” she says, ignoring the sudden feeling of disappointment as she says it. “I was kidding about the meetings, but if you’re needed here, then stay.”

“This is too vital to our plans; the moffs and admirals will survive speaking with me by holocom. And the trip back will allow us the time needed to decide what to do with the information. I have a few ideas I’d like your opinion on.” He throws one leg over his speeder, settles into the seat. “Leaving this afternoon?”

“That’s the plan, unless I contact you to say otherwise." She sits on her speeder. "Be back here at two.”

[3]  
Lana stands when Kryn strolls into her office, eyes flicking across Kryn’s armor and helm, discarding her customary greeting for one more formal and bowing more deeply than usual. “Good morning, my lord. As you commanded, here is Auren Lirak, the analyst that provided the intel for your mission to Tangrene.” She indicates the slight man perched on the edge of a chair near Lana's desk, twisting his hands around each other as he takes deep breaths.

“I would suggest you stand and show proper respect to a member of the Dark Council,” Kryn says amiably. “This can be done the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours.”

“Y-yes, my lord.” The man rises to his feet and inclines his head. “I am responsible for the outdated intelligence.” He bites the inside of his bottom lip. “My excitement upon discovering the escalating Republic presence on Tangrene got the better of me. I should have rechecked my sources and continued providing updates, especially when we received word that it was you and Darth Marr investigating.” His back is straight and his head unbowed, though he can’t still the shaking in his hands or the tremor in his voice.

“So you know what you did wrong, and how to correct it," Kryn says, pleased. "The only point I would disagree with is that you should take the same care with every operation, not just the ones with high-ranking Imperials, yes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Very well.” Kryn turns to Lana. “Minister Beniko, what do you believe should be done with Auren?”

Lana considers. “My lord, I don’t believe in executing someone for one error, and I do believe he will prove a useful addition to Sith Intelligence. We shall simply have to keep an eye on him for a determined amount of time. I recommend he be put on probation."

Kryn is silent as stone as she mulls this over, hands on her hips. “Your recommendation is accepted, Minister. Assign him to a senior analyst for however long you deem necessary.” She turns to the analyst. “If this happens again, however, you will be … _retired_ from Sith Intelligence. I’m sure I don’t need to enlighten you as to what early forcible retirement entails. Am I clear?”

He nods sharply. “Yes, my lord!”

“Report to your station, Auren,” Lana says. “We will discuss the details of your probation once I’m finished speaking with Darth Nox.”

He nods, turns, and speed walks out of the room. As the door closes behind him, Lana beckons to a chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, Nox, have a seat.”

Kryn sits, taking off her helm and setting it in her lap. “How are you, Lana? Are things running smoothly?”

Lana smiles. “As smoothly as can be expected, my lord, given that the agency is still in its infancy. The agent that procured the Black Codex has been invaluable with her assistance. She brought in a stack of dossiers that likely would have been rejected by the former organization, but we've hired many of them and they've performing admirably." She shrugs. "There are growing pains to be expected, of course. And Darth Zhorrid ….” She trails off. “Well, she certainly does enjoy being involved.”

“Is she overly involved?” When Lana doesn't answer, Kryn leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “Surely you feel that you can still trust me."

Lana considers for a long moment, then nods. "Yes. And too many of her suggestions seem to be geared toward increasing her personal standing or her reputation with the rest of the Dark Council, rather than making Sith Intelligence the best agency it can be.” Lana sits back in her chair, expression almost stormy. “It’s really the last problem we need right now.”

"There is nothing that can help Zhorrid's reputation with the Dark Council. Too young, too inexperienced, too little self-control." Kryn's expression turns thoughtful, and she's quiet for a full minute, drumming her fingers on her helm. “I’ll see what I can do, Lana. I agree, you shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“You're planning something, though I'm sure I don't want to know what it is." Lana picks up her caf cup and leans back in her chair. "How bad was the intel?” She holds up a hand when there's a knock on the door. "One moment, Nox. Enter!"

The door hisses open, and Rafana strides into the office. "Good morning, Minister." She looks over at Kryn, surprise on her face. "This was your meeting this morning?"

"We were just discussing the abysmal intel I received for the mission I was on," Kryn says. “Incorrect floor plan for the building, incorrect troop counts, no concrete word of what the Republic was there for.” She scowls. “That analyst is lucky I had a two day trip to cool down, to be honest.”

“And you went through with the operation anyway?” Lana shakes her head, chuckles ruefully. “I don’t know why I asked, because of course you did. Though I’m somewhat surprised Darth Marr did. He generally takes a much more ... controlled approach to things.”

Rafana's eyebrow twitches. "I'm losing my touch; I wasn't aware you went on that mission with Darth Marr."

Kryn can practically hear Rafana putting the pieces in place and sighs inwardly, though her expression doesn't change. There's no telling when Rafana will decide to bring this up again, and Kryn finds herself already apprehensive about that particular conversation. "Yes, well, I think you'll find the Dark Council is more than capable of conducting its affairs without Intelligence looking over its shoulder," she huffs. "We are the heads of the government, after all. Or had you forgotten, traipsing around out there doing who knows what?"

"I'm sure you are, Darth Nox, but I'll remind you that it was Intelligence who discovered one of your own was a traitor. And that we are responsible for monitoring the _whole_ Empire." Rafana clears her throat, directing her attention to Lana. "Anyway, Minister, I just wanted to let you know I'm heading out, but I'll be accessible via holocom, as always."

"All right, Ghost. Do come by when you return." As the door closes behind Rafana, Lana turns her attention back to Kryn. "So you must have found something interesting on Tangrene, or I doubt you'd have been satisfied giving Auren probation."

Excitement lights Kryn's face. “You know me so well, Lana! We found a Jedi holocron; that alone was absolutely worth getting locked in a room. And getting into an argument with Darth Marr because I got us locked in a room," Kryn laughs. "I can’t wait to see what’s in it.” She notices Lana’s raised eyebrow. “What?”

“It’s just novel how much the two of you are actually cooperating, not that a majority of it is public knowledge. You’ve been working together since Makeb, yes? It’s somewhat refreshing after all the infighting in the citadel, to be honest.” Lana’s expression is almost calculating. “Whatever it is you two are working on, Nox, you have my support.”

“I’m glad, Lana,” Kryn says. “When I have more information, and can talk about it more openly, you and I will have to speak again concerning more than a few matters.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Lana says, “but I’m afraid I must take my leave for now. Always something else to do.”

“Of course.” Kryn stands, fits her helm on her head. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Never, my lord.”

[4]  
Casino lights flicker across the cityscape as Kryn scans Ca’ii’s veranda, sighing when she notices the two figures standing near the door leading into the penthouse. “Of all the people in the known galaxy, that’s who she picks. Of course.”

The woman, Major Raitlia Sartoris, is imposing, with piercing green eyes and a scar from animal claws running down the left side of her face. Her black, orange, and white armor is well-worn and scuffed, and her arms are folded across her chest. The Cathar standing just a step behind her, Captain Aric Jorgan, is a mirror image right down to his stance, though his armor is a slightly different style and only white and orange.

Kryn turns her back to them and looks at Marr, who hasn’t noticed the pair yet. “Don’t start anything.”

He dismounts and peers over her head across the veranda. “I’m just here to stand around looking imposing, remember? Why would I -" He stares at the two people for a long moment, and Kryn can feel him start to scowl. “Is that …?”

“Havoc Squad, yes. Just … don’t." She lays a hand on his arm. "We need this information, remember? Let’s not have an incident.”

All he manages in response is a low growl before he takes a deep breath. “As you say.” 

She pulls her hand back, straightens her shoulders, adjusts her helm. “Come on." Kryn strides across the balcony, Marr two steps behind her. “Major. Captain.”

The Cathar stands impassively, but Raitlia’s eyes flash and her mouth twists in a scowl as she looks from Kryn to Marr. “Didn't realize Dark Council members had so much free time. Taking a breather from teaching people how to march in lockstep, and executing those who won’t?”

“Really?” The hurt in Kryn's voice almost sounds genuine. “Not even a greeting before we jump right to the insults! Don’t they teach you Republic types manners? Your mother would be disappointed.” 

The major’s lips press into a thin line before she sighs and inclines her head a fraction of an inch. “Darth Nox.” A longer pause, and an even cooler tone. “Darth Marr.”

Kryn looks around. “So where’s the agent? I was under the impression that-”

The door opens and Rafana strolls out. “I’m right here. Apologies, but you two won't get to pummel each other today.” 

“Pummel?” Kryn huffs. “Perish the thought. Shouldn’t that kind of information be in my dossier? If it’s not, please correct it to read that I prefer to introduce them to several variations on a theme of lightning.”

“Guess that’s what your guard dog is here for, then?” Raitlia snaps as Aric tries to stifle a laugh. "Or has being a politician made you soft, Darth Marr?"

“Coming from the leader of the Republic’s very own squad of guard dogs,” Marr says smoothly, “that is almost a compliment.” An undercurrent of threat creeps into his voice, though he doesn't move from his usual stance. “Feel free to find out for yourself if I’ve gone soft, Major. After all, aren’t you under orders to kill Imperials on sight?” There’s a slight pause, and when he continues the threat has been replaced by faux concern. “You haven’t had any more in your squad, have you?”

Raitlia scowls even harder and Aric’s hand comes to rest on the blaster at his hip.

 _You’re not helping, and this is not standing there silently!_ Kryn’s irritation is clear.

For once, he’s the one who’s unrepentant. _You can’t possibly expect me to play nice with Havoc Squad, not after Corellia._

“Excellent choice of representative, Ghost.” Kryn glares at Rafana. “How, exactly, were you expecting this to go?”

“Well, I was unaware two members of the Dark Council were coming,” Raitlia retorts before Rafana can speak, arms folded. “How were _you_ expecting this to go?”

“Guess we’re even, since I was unaware two members of Havoc Squad were coming,” Kryn snaps. "I was also unaware you'd taken up assassination duties, or does the Republic have you cleaning up all its dirty laundry now?"

"Enough!" Rafana holds up her hands, displaying two data sticks. “All of you, act like adults or I crush these and you can wonder who was in the Star Cabal forever.”

Kryn inclines her head. “As you say.” She’s quiet for a long moment. “My apologies, Major.” When Raitlia doesn’t say anything, Kryn laughs. “I’m going to have to remember write this down in my journal, the day that the Dark Council has more manners than Havoc Squad.”

Raitlia narrows her eyes. “Don’t you -”

“Oh, wait.” Kryn rides right over her, smiling widely. “That’s every day. Guess I don’t need to write it down.” She looks over at Rafana. “Do continue.”

Rafana takes a deep breath. “I will never understand why Sith have to make my life so _difficult_. Anyway, here.” She holds out the data sticks, folding her arms after the two women take them. “I don’t want to know what you do with them. Now I’m done with this, and I don’t want to hear any more about it from you.” She points at Kryn. “Or from you.” She points at Marr. “Or from you.” She points at Raitlia. “Though I suppose it’s too much to ask that the Sith leave me alone.”

“We all work within the boundaries we’re given,” Kryn says. “Interesting that you, of all people, are complaining about this, given your current status.” She holds up her hands. “But that’s a philosophical discussion for another time.”

“And there are those,” Raitlia says, giving Kryn a sideways glance, “that have far fewer boundaries than they require.” She looks at Rafana. “At least some of you people are capable of working together, rather than demanding everything be done their way.”

“Yes, this agent is the only person in the entire Empire capable of cooperation,” Marr says, deeply sardonic. “We also don’t believe in culture, or art, or anything other than slave collars and summary executions. At least, that's what your politicians demand you believe as they send you off to war, is it not?"

Silence spins out as everyone stares at him.

"We certainly don’t take pride in our accomplishments, or work to improve ourselves. All of that’s the strict province of the Republic. The galaxy is quite fortunate to have you here to make up for our extraordinary failings.” He shakes his head, not even attempting to keep the disgust out of his voice. "Typical. Darth Nox, are we through? At this rate we're going to end up with a diplomatic incident on our hands." 

Kryn regards him for a moment, face carefully neutral, then nods and turns back to Raitlia. “Well, he certainly covered everything I would have said. Perhaps you ought to remember that we are just as patriotic as you." She turns to Darth Marr. "I believe we have some traitors to ...." Kryn pauses, noticing Raitlia's scowl, then smiles sweetly. "To question, of course! What on Coruscant were _you_ thinking I'd do with them, Major, that you'd look at me so?" 

As Marr turns and strides toward the speeder, she can't help adding one more thing. "Don't you have some politicians' hoops to jump through? Get to it, Havoc!" She snaps off a sloppy salute, then executes a halfway decent about face before strolling across the veranda.


	13. Laying the Groundwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two projects of Kryn's come to fruition. The Wrath's loyalties are questioned. Kryn expands her social circle.

[1]  
As usual, Darth Marr's front office is operating at a dull roar: reports from all corners of the galaxy, discussions of strategy and tactics, lords handling affairs that fall well below the Councilor's notice. Managing this chaos is Lord Bryasere Algrei, Darth Marr's Second, who knows the workings of his sphere - and the other two he is currently managing - like the inner workings of her own lightsaber. She has served in this capacity for the last eight years, earning a sterling reputation for her exceptional attention to detail and her unsurpassed drive to excel. It is well-known that one underestimates Lord Algrei at their own risk, for her affable exterior belies her core of durasteel and her absolute, unflinching loyalty to Darth Marr.

Bryasere’s holo chimes again, for the fourth time in ten minutes. She already knows what he’s going to ask, and this time she's not sure what his reaction is going to be when she gives the same answer she's given the last three times. She takes a deep breath, combing her chin-length black hair behind her ears as she touches the button and activates the call.

He doesn't bother with niceties, his query terse. “Well?”

“My lord, I haven’t yet heard from Darth -”

The call is abruptly terminated, and not five minutes later the door to Marr’s personal office opens. Bryasere marvels, not for the first time, at how well he conveys anger and threat and exasperation while concealed from head to toe in his customary suit of armor. 

His voice is cold and nearly devoid of inflection, the surest sign that his patience is stretched to its limit. “I will return momentarily.”

Bryasere watches him stalk out the door, idly wondering if she should start a betting pool on Darth Nox’s survival rate, given how often Nox seems to drive Marr into a fury.

[2]  
Marr's annoyed shout dies before it leaves his mouth as soon as the door to Kryn's expansive office whispers open. Kryn, Xalek, and Ashara are standing around the large, cluttered desk at the far end of the office, the holocron Kryn found on Tangrene hovering between them, bobbing gently. The dark side is palpable, tendrils of it seeming to writhe around Kryn as long as Marr doesn’t focus directly on her. The sheen of sweat on her forehead reflects the overhead light, and her face is pale and drawn, tense with concentration, as she draws even more heavily on the Force.

Marr pauses next to Talos, who’s standing a decent distance back, arms wrapped around a stack of datapads. “Drellik.”

Talos inclines his head. “My lord,” he murmurs. “They’ve been working on opening that holocron for hours. I believe they’ve nearly got it.” He shifts the unwieldy stack of datapads. “I hope they have, at any rate. My arms are going numb.” 

There’s a sensation of air growing taut, then a rush of energy ripples through the room like a tidal wave. The holocron falls to the desk, a blue hologram plainly visible. As Xalek and Ashara slump into nearby chairs, a wide grin lights Kryn’s face. “We got it! Fantastic work! You two, get some breakfast once you’ve caught your breath. You may skip your sparring today, I don’t want anyone hurt.” She looks up, noticing Talos and Marr. “Darth Marr, I’ll be with you in just a moment.” She swipes the back of her hand across her forehead. “Knew I shouldn't have stayed up watching that movie marathon on the HoloNet last night, I'm exhausted. Talos! Tell me you have good news!”

Talos steps forward, clearly pleased. “Yes, my lord, we found it, right where that map we unearthed said it would be. It’s high on a plateau, easily defensible, and the compound is quite large, with more than enough space for our needs.”

Kryn almost does a dance step. “Excellent! Double check our supplies and personnel, and let’s get a transport underway by the end of today. The spaceport should have a ship on standby for this project, and all personnel going with us from the Science Bureau have already been granted leave.” She considers. “I don’t want people running haphazardly through that place until I can come out there. Set up the research centers in the main room, and cautiously explore one or two adjacent rooms for living quarters. That place has been abandoned for who knows how long and we don’t want to be losing people to some ancient Sith’s traps or alchemical creations.”

“My lord, perhaps Xalek and I could go?” Ashara sits up, excitement lighting her eyes. “That way while they’re setting up the research equipment, he and I could investigate the nearby rooms? You have trained us well, and between the two of us I believe we could handle whatever we might find. Not to mention, two more sets of hands will make the work go faster.”

Kryn nods. “That’s a good idea, Ashara. Head back to the apartment, pack what you’ll need, and report to Talos. He’ll coordinate where you can be most helpful.”

Ashara and Xalek both stand and bow, then swiftly exit the office.

“Everything should go smoothly, my lord. Ashara’s practically a member of the Reclamation Service at this point; I wager she’ll be cataloguing things as soon as we set foot in the compound.” Talos smiles. “I’ll leave the information I’ve compiled with you, and keep you informed on our progress." He shifts the datapads, then sets them on a side table before bowing and departing the room.

Marr steps forward. “Nox, I -”

Kryn picks up one of the datapads Talos left, skims through it, then looks up at Marr, deliberately injecting more ennui into her tone. “Let me guess: something something _you’re late I had to walk all the way here can’t you pay attention to the time how many times do I have to say it_ something something. Now that that’s out of the way,” she says in her normal tone, clearly amused, “I apologize for not answering Bryasere’s calls, but we’ve been working on this holocron since four this morning.” As if to emphasize her point, she yawns widely. “This morning is the meeting with the Wrath, yes?” She crosses the room and pulls two datapads off her desk, seemingly at random. “I’m ready, but let’s stop at the caf stand on the way to your office. I’m buying.” She brushes past him, heading for the door.

When he’s certain she’s done talking, he shakes his head, brushing his fingertips along her bared forearm as he catches up with her. “Good morning, Nox.”

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Good morning, Marr.”

[3]  
Two cups of caf sit nearly untouched as Kryn and Marr each have their heads bent to datapads, though their smashball conversation is growing heated.

“Nox, there is no way you can possibly think the Belsavis team has a chance this year, not with them being a first year franchise. I wouldn't put a single credit on them even getting close to a winning record.” Marr adds a few notes, sets the datapad aside, picks up another. “And get your boots off my desk.”

Kryn swings her feet down to the floor with a thump and a disgusted noise. “You'll be eating those words come the playoffs, Marr, because I think you’ll find that their roster -” She pauses as the office door opens, revealing Bryasere and a stern-looking Sith woman with short, slicked-back black hair and elaborate gold facial jewelry.

“Pardon the interruption, my lords, but the Wrath has arrived.”

“Leave us,” Marr commands.

Bryasere nods, steps aside to leave the Wrath enough room to pass, then bows and exits the office, closing the door behind her. Lysch strides across the large open space between the door and Marr’s desk, stopping a short distance from it and settling her hands on her hips. “Darth Marr, you requested an audience?” She raises an eyebrow at Kryn. “Darth Nox.”

Kryn cheerfully salutes, smothering a giggle when Lysch’s brows knit together in irritation. “Wrath.”

Marr clears his throat. “As you know, Wrath, Yavin showed the Emperor no longer has the best interests of the Empire at heart. I had hoped to speak to you then, but my time was more constrained than I’d anticipated.” He pauses, ignoring Kryn’s knowing smirk. “The Empire can no longer kowtow to a leader who does not wish to lead. I don’t know if you’re aware, but the Empire cannot sustain itself with its current social policies and attitudes. We must be united.”

Lysch’s eyes narrow. “You sound like the Betrayer.”

“Oh, please!” Kryn scoffs, turning in her chair to glare at Lysch. “You know Malgus wasn’t wrong. You can’t possibly sit there and tell me you honestly believe that everyone but humans and Sith are inferior. Malgus’ error was in his timing, not his message. Don’t you think there was a shining good reason why so many followed him?”

Lysch waves Kryn into silence. “What are you proposing, Marr?”

“You must be the Empire’s Wrath, not the Emperor’s. Your loyalty must be to the Empire, not the Emperor.” He pauses, lacing his fingers together and setting them on his desk. “I would be sure of your loyalties before we proceed, however.”

”And I would be sure of yours. You are demanding that I trust you without giving me a reason to do so.”

Marr looks at Kryn, who nods almost imperceptibly before standing, one hand on her hip as she regards Lysch.

“Now, I know we sometimes … well, almost always don’t see eye to eye, sister,” she says, “but surely the fact that I support this should count for something. This isn't a power play. The Empire has to change, and your backing would be invaluable.”

Lysch looks from Kryn to Marr. “I see. The two of you have cemented an alliance, then?” She’s quiet for a long moment. “Darth Vowrawn contacted me on Rishi. As did the Hand, during their pursuit of Vowrawn. I know where Vowrawn went, but I did not tell the Hand. I am no one's blind, mindless tool.” She studies Marr. “Do you require yet more evidence that I have not allied myself with Vitiate?”

Marr can’t scrub all the surprise out of his voice. “You subverted the Hand? And know where Vowrawn is?”

"Not precisely, but generally. I will share this information, if you will share your plans."

"It is time to unite the Empire. It is time to march forward as one, our attention focused on our goals instead of our personal power plays. We can no longer stand on the backs of those we've deemed lesser." He points at Kryn. "Common knowledge branded Nox nothing more than a slave." A note of pride creeps into his voice. "Yet here she sits on the Dark Council, after achieving feats no Sith has accomplished in ages and defeating a far senior Sith in honorable combat for her seat." 

Lysch holds up her hand, her tone all business. "That is a lovely speech, truly, but you should save it for a podium and a large crowd. I am far more interested in details. How many Council members are on your side?"

"Right now we're still tentatively reaching out, but I'm sure the majority will see reason."

"Wouldn't count on Ravage and Zhorrid," Kryn mutters. "Ravage is too wrapped up in his own acquisition of power to even use his own people properly, and Zhorrid ... well. I don't think anything else needs to be said there."

Lysch considers for a moment. "I assume you'll be filling the empty seats with Sith amenable to your cause, as well?"

Marr nods. “Of course.”

“Zealots and disgruntled Sith, among others, will not take kindly to this. Do you have a plan in place to deal with them?"

“That’s part of where you come in,” Kryn says. “As the Empire’s Wrath, it would fall under your purview to eliminate the enemies of the state.” She tosses one of the datapads toward Lysch. “In fact, I have a mission for you already, if you're amenable. Want to hunt down a pack of traitors?”

Lysch almost smiles as she catches the device. “You know me so well. Which traitors are these?”

“The Star Cabal. That datapad contains the names of all of its Imperial members. Eliminate them.”

“Very well.” Lysch turns her attention back to Marr. “You’re not content to sit and watch the Empire burn, and you’ve proven a capable leader through multiple crises. You have my support.” She scrolls through the datapad for a moment, brows drawing together in irritation at some of the names on the list, then looks up at Marr. “Was there anything else, Darth Marr?”

He consults a list, then shakes his head. “No.”

“I will keep you apprised of my progress with the Star Cabal,” she says before turning and striding out of the room.

“That was … easier than I expected,” Marr says. 

“Yes, I was certain she'd -” Kryn’s holocom chimes. “Hang on.” She sets it on the edge of the desk and taps the button, her voice turning almost sickly-sweet. “Zhorrid! I’m so glad you found time to call me back! Are we on for lunch today?”

“Of course!” Zhorrid replies, in a tone far too eager. “I must admit I was surprised when you called. We’ve rarely talked.”

On the other side of the desk, Marr folds his arms, resisting the urge to start writing down the many questions he now has.

“I know, and I’m so sorry! You know how it is, things get busy, time flies, but I know you’ve had kind of a rough adjustment to the Council, and I don’t think that’s right. I was thinking a long lunch at the Astrarium, if you can spare the time from overseeing Sith Intelligence?”

“They’re so desperately in need of my guidance,” Zhorrid agrees, “but perhaps this once they’ll surprise me and be competent in their execution of the tasks I give them.” She checks her chrono. “I should be free in twenty minutes, shall we meet then?”

“Absolutely. See you then!” Kryn makes a face as she pockets her holocom and picks up her datapad, rising out of her chair. “We’ll have to continue our smashball discussion later. As I'm sure you heard, I have a lunch meeting.”

“What is all that about?” Marr asks. “You’re no more a fan of that upstart than I am.”

Kryn shakes her head. “Don’t trouble yourself about it.”

He scowls. “That’s not helping.”

She is unmoved. “Not everything has to do with you, you know.” 

He stands, making his way around the desk. “And what’s this project you have Drellik working on?”

She chuckles. "So curious today! That is a surprise that I’ll show you when it’s ready.” She bounces on the balls of her feet. “It’s going to be spectacular.” She plucks her still-full caf cup off the desk. “I really must go, though. I have to take this back to my office before I meet Zhorrid for lunch.”

As they reach the office door, he locks it, then slips his mask off. “You’re up to something.”

She grins. “You know me, I’m always up to something. You’re always up to something, too, it’s just generally more boring than what I’m up to.”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs as he tilts her head up, brushing an errant strand of hair back behind her ear before bending to press his mouth to the pulse point on her neck. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“I ….” She leans into him as much as their armor will allow, then pulls back with a gasp. “No! And you can’t be sneaky like that, that’s not how you do things.”

“That's why it almost worked.” He slips an arm around her waist. “How long did you say you have until your lunch meeting?”

“Not long enough!” She giggles, stepping backward out of his embrace. “Besides, you have reports to read and two meetings coming up, don’t you?”

“I am Sith. They will wait as long as I demand.” He braces one arm against the door, pinning her between the wall and his body, eyes hot as he regards her. “I find I’m required to attend to more pressing matters at the moment.”

For a brief second, she contemplates dropping the datapad right next to where she’d drop all that armor he’s wearing, the mental image so enticing that her hand actually twitches toward him before she pulls it back and takes a deep breath. “Yes, but I am also Sith, and I am not here to dance to your tune,” she says sweetly. “If your meeting gets boring, I’m sure thinking about everything you wanted to do in these twenty minutes will keep you occupied. Hold this?” 

She shoves the caf cup into his open hand before he can protest, then skims her fingertips along his jaw, going on tiptoes to kiss him, tenderly at first and then more insistent before she steps back, taking a deep breath. “I, ah … oh, _damn_ , I want you.” She swallows hard, her expression resolute. “No. Lunch. Must dash. I’ll talk to you later.” Fumbling behind her, she swipes at the lock.

The door engages, and he hurriedly fits his mask back on his face as she’s taking a step backward. She pauses. “Oh, can’t forget my caf.” She plucks the cup out of his hand, aware that half his front office is now looking their way. “Darth Marr.”

“Darth Nox.” He inclines his head, but she can feel his smile. _I see you’re the conductor today. I shall have to choose a different tune next time._

She mirrors his gesture, then leaves the office, corner of her mouth twitching. _I'm positively looking forward to it._


	14. An Evening In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn comes over to watch the game. Pre-game entertainment is had. Kryn's not sure if she likes how things are going.

[1]  
The workday has come and gone, and the message is still sitting on Kryn’s screen.

 _K,_  
_Have a late meeting. Dinner afterward, my place? Pre-season starts tonight. Will add you to door security if so._  
_M._

She’s stuck on that “door security” part. It’s ridiculous; given how often she’s been over there in the last few months, it’s a logical thing to do. It had been fine until a thought had occurred to her, and now she’s staring at the message, fingers drumming on the edge of her desk. 

“I’d be the only one.”

And for some reason, that simple fact is tying her stomach in knots. Saying it out loud makes it worse. She scowls as she contemplates how she wants to respond, cursing that she ever admitted she had any feelings for the man. Things had been so much simpler before that trip to Tangrene. Or, at least, it seems that way.

A stack of datapads wobbles precariously as she slams a fist on her desk. “There’s no reason it should be different. This isn’t something serious. You’re a Sith! Pull yourself together.”

 _M,_  
_Sounds good. I’ll be waiting. Don’t forget the credits you’ll invariably owe me._  
_K._

[2]  
Marr sighs as the door whispers open, dropping his armful of datapads onto the nearby table. He’s going to have to get up earlier than usual tomorrow to catch up, but he’s not missing the first smashball game of the year. “I thought they’d never stop talking,” he grouses as the door closes. Turning, he’s surprised to discover the living room is empty. “Kryn?”

Her voice drifts down toward him. “Upstairs!”

He pauses for a moment, brow furrowing as he processes the unfamiliar sensation of coming home to someone, surprised to find that he already feels more relaxed. He climbs the stairs, ready to trade his armor for something more comfortable, looking forward to spending his evening with her. “I thought we could make ….” He trails off as he rounds the corner into his bedroom.

Kryn is stretched out on his bed wearing a black number that’s nothing more than a few ribbons, so scanty he can’t even in good faith call it clothing. “I thought that maybe before we make dinner, we could make up for lost time?”

The whiplash transition from tired to aroused leaves him dizzy, and he blinks as he tries to form a complete sentence, distracted as he is by the erection now pressing insistently against his armor. “Regretting your earlier restraint?”

“The whole afternoon,” she says frankly. “I always knew restraint was a terrible idea. See why I never practice it? Though the expression on your face almost made it worth it.” She looks him up and down. “You are far too clothed, you know.”

“It’s been a long day. Come help me?”

She slinks off the bed, putting extra sway into her hips as she saunters over. She slips his hood off, reaches for his mask, then stops when she feels his hesitation, as clear as if he’d spoken aloud. “You should do that. I don’t want to cross any boundaries,” she murmurs, surprisingly serious.

“Maybe it's time you did.” 

She can’t disguise her shock, her mouth falling open as her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. 

“One gets set in their ways after so many years alone,” he says, the words unhurried and thoughtful. “But I don’t want this, whatever it is when it’s just us, to be Darth Marr and Darth Nox. I’d like it to be Matthius and Kryn.”

She catches her lower lip between her teeth as she reaches up and removes his mask, holding it delicately in one hand. 

“Me, too,” she breathes, heart pounding.

“And while Darth Marr would certainly get into a fight with Darth Nox on Yavin 4 over it, Matthius is finding it increasingly difficult to keep anything from Kryn,” he continues, small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Though he still has a few secrets she hasn’t yet wheedled out of him.”

Amusement flickers across Kryn’s face. “I, ah, feel a little underdressed for this momentous occasion,” she says ruefully. “I might have picked something more fancy if you’d given me a little notice. Perhaps we should get you out of this armor, and you can tell me again.”

She strolls across the room and deposits his mask on his desk, and he is captivated by the easy grace with which she moves. His gaze doesn't leave her as she returns, her hands flitting across his armor and depositing it piece by piece on the floor. She caresses each newly revealed body part, tracing curves and hollows, as though reminding herself of the man beneath the fearsome exterior.

As she drops to a knee to unfasten his greaves and boots, Marr reaches over his shoulder and whisks his tunic off, tossing it somewhat in the direction of a laundry basket before extending a hand to her and pulling her to her feet. He finishes discarding his armor and trousers, then turns to her.

"I spent the rest of my day thinking of you." He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close, her skin smooth and warm and smelling faintly of everlily, a marked contrast to his battle-scarred flesh. "I suspect that's exactly what you wanted."

She runs her fingers through the dark hair trailing down his chest. "That was indeed my nefarious plot." She grins up at him. "Thought you had more self-control than that, though. Some leader of the Dark Council you are."

"I have plenty of self-control," he counters as he slides his hands under her ass and lifts her up. "I waited until we were alone, instead of pretending you were required for Council business and testing the sturdiness of my desk with you."

Kryn wraps her legs around his waist and leaves kisses, feather-light, on his jaw, his temple, the delicate skin behind his ear. "In that case, damn your self-control," she murmurs, looping an arm around his neck as he lowers them onto the bed. "Good thing I decided against declining your offer, isn't it?"

"Declining!" Marr's features twist into a passing facsimile of betrayal before he bends his head and nips at her collarbone, pleased when she gasps and her fingers tighten on his arm. "That's impressive stubbornness, even for you."

She tries and fails to smother her pleasure as his lips traverse her skin: the hollow of her throat, between her breasts, the curves of her stomach. "Sadly, my stubbornness was overridden by how badly I ...." She drifts off, inhaling slowly as his fingertips graze her inner thighs, replaced in short order by kisses, each one languid and deliberate and leaving spots of fire in their wake. She shivers, already craving the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his tongue. 

"How badly you what?" he asks from between her legs, green eyes sparkling as he watches her composure begin to crumble, her pulse quickening, her lips parted as she draws ever shorter breaths. "Don't leave me in suspense."

She rakes her hands through his hair, strands of silver mixing with ebony at his temples, struggling to not arch toward him. "I ... ah ... how badly I want to take your credits when Tatooine loses tonight," she says, knowing how ridiculous it sounds as soon as it leaves her mouth.

"In that case, I guess we'll have to miss the game," he murmurs as he parts delicate folds, eager to touch her. "But I'm certain I can devise worthy diversions for us." His head bows, tongue sweeping in a slow circle around her clit.

She tenses, holding her breath a beat longer than normal, and all she can manage is a feeble _oh?_ that trails upward as he picks up speed. Her hands tighten in his hair, his name stuttering out of her mouth as he settles her legs on his shoulders. 

He intersperses the ever-quickening circles with flicks of his tongue, the pressure at the base of his spine building with every breathy gasp she can't constrain, waiting for the perfect moment as he draws her closer to the edge. When she begins trembling, he slides a finger into her, and her leg twitches sideways, colliding with the side of his head with a dull thud. 

She immediately props herself up on her elbows, pulling her legs back. "Oh! I -" She takes a deep breath, trying to clear her head, to pay attention to anything other than how her body is screaming for him. "I'm so sorry! Are you all right?" 

He chuckles as he rubs his head. "As long as that was a _doing something right_ reaction and not a _get off me_ kick." He sits back on his heels. "Come here."

She straddles him, knees planted on the outside of his legs, and his fingers sink into her hips while he guides her downward, biting his lip as she surrounds him. "Kryn ... I ...." He gives up on words, capturing soft flesh between his teeth and groaning against her neck as he buries his hands in the red fall of hair streaming down her back. 

She rocks her hips, smiles when he shudders, does it again with a little more force, a little more quickness, then settles into an easy, familiar rhythm, her skin sweat-slick against his. She arches her back when he cups her breasts, callused thumbs teasing pebbled nipples, an exquisite torment that leaves her whimpering helplessly and writhing against him, chasing a release hovering just out of reach.

"I -" He hisses air between his teeth, a sudden grimace twisting his features. "Oh, ow, _damn_ , hold on, hang on a minute." He all but tosses her off his lap, and sits back on his ass, extending one leg and scowling. "Cramp. Give me a second."

Kryn lands on her back with a startled gasp, then chuckles. "We're a mess tonight, and it is really starting to interrupt things I’d rather weren't interrupted," she pants before she drops her head back on the pillow. "I was so close."

He winces as he stretches his leg again. “We’ll just have to take it slow.” He settles against her and slides one arm around her slender shoulders, pulling her closer as his other hand skims upward from her hips, coming to rest just under her breast. The tattoo of raindrops against transparisteel is the only sound breaking the silence as his mouth meets hers, and then nothing else matters, the endless demands of the Empire are gone, and there is only her and him, the way she looks at him, the way they fit together. 

One of her hands slips upward, fingertips threading through jet-black hair that’s grown long enough to brush his neck in thick waves. The other drifts along his back, over the rise and fall of old scars and shifting muscle, as her heartbeat thunders in her ears and white fire crackles in her veins, burning away everything but the weight of his body and the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on hers. Caught up in the moment and barely aware she’s speaking aloud, his name falls from her lips, _my Matthius_ , both prayer and plea in the stillness of the room as her hand slips down to caress his cheek. 

Her words, no louder than a drawn breath, strike him like a bolt of lightning, and he gasps as the explosion of sparks in his chest leaves him lightheaded. He shifts and enters her inch by inch, _Kryn_ floating on his exhalation as her fingers tighten on his back, dark curls touching red as she takes all of him. He rolls his hips against hers, slow like the thick, sweet syrup that glistens on a halved jaquira fruit, his groan of pure bliss muffled by her hair. He closes his eyes, fights through desire so strong he can barely focus. "I don't know that I can keep going this slowly," he says thickly, holding himself still.

She pulls his head down and kisses him hard. "Then don't." 

He pushes himself up on his knees, ignoring the twinge of residual pain in his leg, and pulls her flush against him with a single sharp tug. He fully intends on not rushing things, but he's been holding back too long and her nails raking along his thighs prove to be his undoing. Careful thrusts are replaced by reckless abandon, control relinquished and everything drawing taut when he can't take his eyes off her. 

Her voice is growing rough from the syllables she starts and can't finish, an ever-changing collection of trailing vowels. A pink flush blooms on her chest as her hips buck against his, her knuckles turning white from her grip on the blanket, an anchor as need eclipses all else. Her body tenses and she reaches out for him, wrapping her arms around him as soon as he folds himself down to her, skin to skin and moving as one. 

She clings to him like she would a tree in a storm, face pressed against his neck to muffle her wordless cry when she comes, nails scoring his back as she tightens around him. The sting of the scratches and her spasming aftershocks are more than he can withstand, and he shudders as he spills warmth deep within her. They lay tangled together until her embrace loosens and he rolls to the side, landing next to her with a soft _fwump_ , stretching as he catches his breath.

Kryn is the first to speak, voice still scratchy, fingers gentle on his arm as she lifts it up and checks his chrono. “We can still catch the game. May even have enough time to run downstairs and throw together some sandwiches if we skip the pre-game analysis.”

He pushes himself to a sitting position. “I’ll go. I need to stretch out my leg, anyway, and you are a disaster in the kitchen.”

“It’s _sandwiches_ ,” she huffs, unsure if she’s actually offended or not. “How hard can they be? Are you really holding a grudge over one incident?”

“You set my stove on fire, Kryn.” Marr kisses her forehead and rolls off the bed. “So I would rather not find out how you'd massacre sandwiches.” He tosses her the remote, then pulls on a pair of well-worn pajama pants. “Back in a minute.”

[3]  
The game is over, credits grudgingly handed over with a muttered _Belsavis got lucky it won’t last_ , and she's turned on a movie, curled up against him, head resting on his chest while he catches up on work. He’s combing his fingers through her hair as he reads, and she sighs, deeply contented. _I could stay like this forever._

The contentment vanishes like fog in sunlight. _Stay like this? No._ She adores chasing around the galaxy, relishes her freedom. She has plans, goals, havoc to wreak. She doesn’t have time for sitting around daydreaming, no matter how gorgeous someone’s eyes are or how his kisses leave her breathless or his touch makes her heart leap. This is supposed to be harmless diversion with a little bit of _I like you more than I like other people_ , not whatever this is burning in her chest whenever she thinks of him.

Kryn swallows hard and slides out of bed, pulse galloping. "I ought to get going. We have work tomorrow, and I'm, um, feeling some insomnia coming on.” She steps into her pants, then pulls her shirt over her head. “I don't want to keep you up all night just because I can’t sleep." 

He doesn’t look up right away, gently reaching through the Force. He can feel her ... not fear, exactly. Nervousness. She's twitchy about something. It's the first time he's ever seen her like this; she was more calm standing on Makeb knowing the planet would tear itself apart if she failed. The question hovers on his lips, but he doesn’t want to pry it from her thoughts and he knows if he asks she won't tell him. In that, they are very much alike. Sith are too stubborn for their own good sometimes, especially when it comes to perceived weakness. 

He lowers his report, arching an eyebrow. "You know your insomnia doesn't bother me."

"I know. But ... well ...." There is a substantial pause as she intently studies her hands, trying to unobtrusively calm herself. "I have a lot of work to do," she finishes feebly, before she risks a glance at him.

Marr holds her gaze as he ponders what to say. He wants to ask her to stay, wants her dozing next to him again, wants to see her face in the morning even though she’ll be a snarling krak’jya until her third cup of caf. But they've never sat down and _discussed_ her staying over, she's always just done it, and talking about it makes things feel more weighty than he's anticipating.

She scowls at him, a real scowl, the kind she gives uncooperative holocrons. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that."

He tosses the report aside and gets up, hoping he strikes a balance between too serious and not serious enough. “You’re sure I can’t convince you to stay?”

She sighs. “No. Yes.” She nods, almost to herself. “Yes, I’m sure.” Her chin lifts stubbornly. “I’ll see you at the citadel tomorrow.” She marches past him, nose in the air.

At the door to his bedroom, he catches her arm, pulls her close, and bends down to kiss her, stopping just before his lips touch hers. “Goodnight, Kryn.”

Her lips part as she looks up at him and she darts forward, pressing her mouth to his. “Goodnight, Matthius.”

He leans against the doorframe and watches her sweep down the stairs and out the front door.


	15. Painting the Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn and her sisters get together for a night out at Club Vertica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Sartoris Legacy](http://inquisitorhotpants.tumblr.com/post/125267343981/the-sartoris-sisters-and-handwriting-raitlia)

[1]  
Ca’ii’s house is full of light and noise as the Sartoris sisters get ready for their night out on the town, sweeping in and out of each other’s rooms.

“Kryn, did you get the reservation?” Liinz raises her voice to be heard over the music playing in the lounge.

“Of course I did! Made it a week ago.” Kryn’s holocom chimes and she sets it on her end table, not realizing she's pushing the button as she does so, shouting to be heard over the din of seven other somewhat inebriated voices in the hallway and oblivious to Marr's shimmering blue figure. “Hey, can you all shut up for a minute? I can’t hear myself think, let alone hear a call!”

Ca’ii sticks her face in the door. "No business! That’s the rules!" She a face when Raitlia pauses the music. "Aw, geez, fine, since Captain Killjoy already turned off the tunes. But hurry up!"

Raitlia mock-scowls behind Ca’ii, her hands on her hips. "That's _Major_ Killjoy, I'll have you know!" She peers into Kryn’s room. “Are you ever going to get ready?” A real scowl crosses her face when she sees the holocall. “Politics? You know the rule.”

Kryn sighs. "The faster you lot shut it, the faster I'm done!" After the sudden din of exaggerated shushing dies down, she turns to the holocom, surprised to see it's already on, a wide smile appearing on her face. "Oh! Ma-” She stops, realizing what she almost said. “I mean, Darth Marr! I, uh ….” She clears her throat and tries to iron out the tipsiness in her voice. “This is a surprise!”

There's a considerable silence before he responds. He hadn’t planned on her being surrounded by people, and now he needs a plausible and innocuous reason to talk to her. 

“... Nox. Do you have a moment?”

“Yes. Well.” She reconsiders, looking at the glass in her hand and the dress hanging on her closet door. “How long of a moment? I wasn’t planning on having a meeting this evening. Have to do my part with all this booze, you know, and I have a reservation at Club Vertica.”

He shakes his head. “Nothing so time-consuming. It’s past time we start filling these seats on the Council, so you need to compose a list of candidates and we can compare names when you return.” 

Liinz pokes her head in. “Darth Tormen.”

Kryn turns toward her voice, as does Marr. “What?”

Liinz grins. “Darth Tormen. Only Sith I know that isn’t you or Lysch, so I had to suggest him for whatever it is you need a Sith for.”

“Tormen ….” Kryn muses. “Sounds familiar.”

“I know him,” Marr says. “I’ll add him to the list.”

Liinz grins. “I was just really excited to contribute to a conversation that doesn’t concern me in the slightest. Now that I have, I’ll leave you be.” She strides out of the room. “But hurry up, Kryn, we’re waiting on you.”

Marr looks back at Kryn. “I didn’t know you’d be so busy, or I’d have waited to call.”

“Ca’ii’s house is always raucous,” she says, shrugging. “We’re not a quiet bunch. If you need to have a more extensive discussion, we can talk when I’m on my way back.” _I hope you call again_ remains unsaid, hovering in her mouth.

“I see,” he says, making a mental note that Kryn’s _I’m going to Nar Shaddaa_ means she’s going to see her sisters, wishing he’d known that before. “I will keep this short. When are you returning?”

“I’ll be here a couple more days, then I’ll be on my way," Kryn says, studiously ignoring Ca'ii and Rafana and their pantomime of a very large man walking around and scolding people; if she watches it for too long she’s going to be gripped by uncontrollable laughter. “Have to be back in time for the bloodflower ceremony.”

Semiri leans into the room. “Weren’t you coming with me to Yavin Four?”

“I was, but I can’t miss the ceremony or the Gala of the Stars. I’m coming out to Yavin 4 after that.”

As Semiri nods and withdraws, Marr folds his arms. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing out there.”

Kryn shakes her head at him. “I already told you it’s a surprise, but fine. I'm working on a very important project, and I don't want to get into it before the project is really up and running."

He's unconvinced, sounding almost surly. “You don’t exactly have the time to be cavorting around the galaxy, Nox.”

“Well, if it’s so damn important, come out to Yavin Four with me, Marr,” she retorts in a passable imitation of his tone.

“I can’t -” He heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Must you try my patience every day?”

Her voice is sweet as sugar. “No. I didn’t talk to you yesterday.”

Several of her sisters, lingering in her doorway, smother laughter.

Kryn can practically see him drumming his fingers on his desk before he responds. “Fine, blast it. I’ll accompany you to Yavin 4 after Emperor’s Day.” 

There’s a lengthy pause as Kryn thinks of all the things she wants to say but can't. “So, will that be all?” she finally asks.

“Yes. If anything else comes up, I’ll contact you on the _Adamant_.” He disconnects.

Kryn looks up and notices everyone is looking at her. “What?”

“Waiting on you!” Rafana says. “Get ready!”

“Hey, Kryn," Ca'ii asks, flinging herself onto the bed as Kryn pulls on her strappy black dress, "whatever happened to that cute Sith you were seeing? Darth, um ….” She snaps her fingers, trying to remember his name.

“Oh, Darth Aphotic?" Kryn is straining to sound casual, though she’d been hoping this subject wouldn’t come up at all. "Oh, I see him from time to time.”

“Time to time? That’s _it_? Someone that chiseled and beautiful and you only see him from time to time?" Ca'ii actually sounds offended. "I'd tie him to my bed and never let him leave.”

Rafana, settling into a chair, looks from Ca’ii to Kryn. “Darth Aphotic, did you say?” she asks, far too casually for Kryn’s liking.

“Yes, and no, there’s no need to pull him up in whatever weirdly invasive database you Intelligence types have,” Kryn says, scowling at Rafana, who pays her absolutely no mind. “You know, why’s the focus on me? Why aren’t we asking Raitlia how many people she and her boyfriend have shouted into submission lately? Or ….” A wicked smile curves Kryn’s mouth. “Or Semiri. Semiri owes me a whole story, don’t you, little sister?”

Semiri’s face flames as everyone turns to look at her. “Damn it. I was hoping you'd forget.”

Ca’ii gasps. “You did something and didn’t _tell_ me?” She beckons to Liinz, who drags Semiri into the room and hauls her down onto the bed. "Story time!"

“Semiri,” Zal’shana tsks from the doorway, “you know that’s against the Code.”

Semiri wags a finger. “I don’t even want to hear it from you, Mrs. Iresso.”

Zal’shana chuckles as she pushes her lekku back over her shoulder. “You know I had to say it.”

“I am not getting into this with all of you staring at me,” Semiri mutters, folding her arms, expression truculent. “Absolutely not.”

“But sister, that’s what these get-togethers are for. Faction is checked at the door, remember? Well, mostly. Raitlia’s not very good at checking her faction,” Kryn says, straight-faced.

Raitlia, just as Kryn expected, takes the bait. “Checking my faction and listening to you discuss Imperial politics are two totally separate things.”

“Semiri, you may as well cough it up,” Lysch says. “You know we’re not going anywhere ‘til you do.”

“I … we … I can’t!” She buries her face in her hands.

“You have a choice: either you tell us, or I’m going to guess." Kryn sets her lipstick down and looks over at Semiri. "In detail. _Great_ detail." She considers for a moment, tapping her chin. "Oh! I bet he took his -"

A slightly horrified look crosses Semiri's face. “All right, all right! So you know how Scourge can’t feel anything, right? Yavin 4, it … temporarily undid whatever the Sith Emperor did to him, and … well, while we were camped one night ...." She trails off, face an even deeper shade of crimson.

There is a long, pregnant pause.

“You didn’t.” Ca’ii grins. “No way. You blush when I give you lingerie! And you … and _Scourge_ …? And outside, even! I didn't know you had it in you.”

Liinz guffaws. "She sure did on that camping trip!" Semiri groans and Kryn slumps back in her chair wheezing with laughter, Rafana's _oh, for - Liinz, really?_ making Raitlia lean against the wall holding her sides. 

Ca'ii is focused on far more important matters. “Well, how was it? Details!”

“Not details!” Lysch hurriedly interrupts as everyone else bursts into laughter, though mischief twinkles in her golden eyes. “But … I mean, a general estimation of how good it was, that’s kind of required, big sister."

“Even Lysch wants to know!” Kryn laughs. “Now you have to tell us.”

Semiri bites her lip as she grins. “It was absolutely worth breaking the Code for, and that’s all I’m telling you vultures. There, can we drop it?”

“Only because we need to go,” Kryn says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Ca’ii, did you rent the car?”

“It’s out front right now.”

“What are we all waiting on? Let’s go!”

[2]  
"That valet was cute," Ca'ii says, nudging Liinz. “Maybe I’ll go back and talk to him later.”

"Ugh, the valet?" Kryn laughs. "Ca'ii, we're in a club full of some of the biggest wheelers and dealers in the galaxy. Set your sights higher!"

"Last time I did that I had to kill him," Ca'ii snarks. "Aiming lower works much better." The jangle of slot machines catches her attention and she opens her purse, rummaging around. "Ooh! I still have some chips from my last visit, too!" She breaks off from the group, disappearing into the crowd.

"Well, there's Ca'ii gone for the night," Zal'shana laughs, tugging at the hem of her violet lace dress and making a face. "I knew this was too short."

"You look great!" Semiri says. "Although you definitely look like our designated driver, all demure and stuff."

Kryn strides up to a stern-faced man standing in front of a staircase. "Evening, Railen."

He nods. "Darth Nox. Your usual room is waiting." He steps aside.

"Fantastic." She lingers as everyone else starts up the stairs. "I'm going to go find Ca'ii. Liinz, order drinks?"

“On it.”

Kryn finds Ca’ii rolling chips between her fingers and steadily cursing at her chosen slot machine. “No luck?”

“Naturally. Maybe this will -” She stops as a tall, slender man with flowing black hair squeezes past them. “Look at _him_!” She nudges Kryn. “Go talk to him!”

Kryn leans back and watches him walk away, pretending to consider it even though her thoughts are of combat-scarred skin under her fingertips and green eyes crinkled with laughter. “Ehhhh.” Kryn shrugs. “I don’t know. Not really feeling it.”

“Not really feeling it? What?" Ca’ii presses the back of her hand to Kryn’s forehead. “You would have been all over that the last time we came here!”

“Yes, well … that was last time,” Kryn replies airily. “Come on, everyone else is already upstairs.”

Ca’ii natters on about him all the way up to their room, sliding into a chair after pouring herself a beer. “Kryn, I absolutely cannot believe you’re passing him up. I mean, he was so -”

“Allow me to interrupt, sister,” Rafana interrupts, a smirk on her face, “because I have a very pressing question." When everyone has turned to look at her, she points at Kryn. "Darth Nox, there is no Darth Aphotic in the Empire. At all. So who is he?”

Kryn’s stomach drops into her shoes, and she shakes her head. “I can’t tell you. State secret.”

Rafana’s mouth curls into a smile. “Luckily, I’ve already swept the room for bugs; it’s clean.”

“And I’ve got eyes on the only entrance into the room,” Raitlia chimes in.

“But _you_ don’t want me talking politics,” Kryn says, “and I already broke the rule once today.”

Raitlia shakes her head. “You know, usually you hand out details about your personal life like they’re candy; this is the first time you’ve ever actually demurred, and it is really tweaking my curiosity, so I’m going to let you break the rule again.”

Lysch raises an eyebrow, watching Kryn over the top of her glass. “Is it who I think it is?”

Kryn sighs. “I’m almost scared to ask who you think it is, Lysch.”

“I can tell them,” Rafana says, tone sprightly, “if you don’t want to.”

“Wait, you know?” Liinz says. “And you haven’t told us?”

“I was waiting for the perfect time, and I really only know because _someone_ slipped up.”

“You called at four in the morning, Rafana!” Kryn snaps. “No one is at the top of their game that early. And no, I’ll tell them since you’re going to push it.” She sighs. “Look … this doesn’t leave this room. At all.”

“This is going to be _great_ ,” Semiri whispers to Zal’shana. “I’ve never seen Kryn like this before.”

“There is no Darth Aphotic. There is, however ….” She bites her lip, fidgets. “Darth Marr.”

Raitlia’s mouth falls open as Rafana sits back in her chair, quite pleased with herself. Semiri and Liinz gasp audibly. Lysch nods smugly, suspicion confirmed. 

Liinz nearly drops her drink. “Shut _up_! You and -”

“ _Him_?” Semiri chimes in. “He’s so serious! I really thought he and Scourge were going to fight right there at the war table. He’s not like you at all. How do you … I mean, what do you two _do_?” 

“I agree, the _how hasn’t he killed you yet_ question really needs to be asked,” Lysch says.

"Clearly someone's doing quite a good job outside of working hours," Liinz giggles.

“You two are like, king and queen of the Empire!” Ca’ii exclaims. “Right?” She holds up her hands when Kryn opens her mouth. “Don’t correct me, let me have my fantasy here. Ooh, since he's the senior guy, if the Emperor has really gone nuts and you two got married, would that make you Empress?"

Kryn shakes her head. "It wasn't supposed to be ... that is, it _isn't_ anything serious, Ca'ii."

“Ugh, Darth Marr! Out of everyone in the Empire!” Raitlia groans. “Kryn, _why_?”

“Just so you could make that face, Raitlia.” Kryn grins. "Plus, what do you want me to do, trade _down_? And have you seen the rest of the Dark Council? He was the only viable option, obviously."

"See, now your panic the day he came over makes far more sense," Ca'ii says. "That could have been bad."

"Yeah, well ... that whole issue about my siblings has been resolved." Kryn takes a drink. "So no need to worry about it anymore."

Raitlia holds up a hand. "I don't even want to know what that entails. But ... so under all that armor, he's ...?"

"Oh, man." Ca'ii answers before Kryn gets a chance, practically swooning. "Gorgeous. I'd switch sides for that."

"You'd switch sides for the right stack of credits," Semiri instantly replies.

"Well, we all know which side _you_ have a preference for," Liinz says, grinning. 

Semiri sticks her tongue out. "No one asked you!"

Zal'shana scoots toward the middle of the couch she's on, points at the now-empty spot next to her, and waits until Kryn settles in beside her. "What did you mean a minute ago?" Zal'shana asks. "With the not serious bit."

"It's just some harmless fun, that's all. It's not like we're getting married. Ca’ii is ridiculous." Kryn replies, shooting a dirty look at Ca'ii, who gives her a thumbs up.

"But you really like him," Zal'shana persists. "I can feel it. And if he feels the same way, then what's the problem?"

"Who says he feels the same way? For that matter, who says there's a problem?"

“Oh, sister.” Zal’shana can’t stop her widening grin, especially when she notices everyone else paying attention to their conversation. “He’s really gotten under your skin.”

“I _know_ ,” Kryn groans, dropping her head into her hands. “I don’t know how to handle it. It’s infuriating.”

“Aren’t you Sith types just supposed to roll with it?” Raitlia asks. “That’s your whole thing, isn’t it? That’s half the reason I want to punch you in the face at least once every time we talk, because you take literally nothing seriously. How on earth are _you_ having a problem with this?”

“Because I wasn’t expecting these kinds of feelings!”

The room is very quiet for a moment.

“Are you in _love_?” Ca’ii exclaims. 

Kryn scowls. “No!”

Rafana raises her hand. “But?” When Kryn makes a face but doesn’t say anything, she repeats herself, drawing out the word. “Buuuuuuut?”

“But it’s close, all right? And that’s ridiculous. It’s a temporary emotional imbalance, that’s all. It’ll go away. It’s just … it’s no big deal.” Kryn tosses back the rest of her drink. “Now can we get hammered, please? I have a sudden urge to forget this weekend happened.”

[3]  
Kryn is in her favorite stage of drunkenness, the stage where everything is fantastic and nothing seems like a bad idea. She eyes her holocom again, the last of her resolve melting away, and she’s keying in a frequency. Well, attempting to key it in, because she can’t seem to quite focus on it enough to get it right the first time. “The buttons on these things are so small,” she grouses before she finally gets it right.

Her lower lip pokes out when she gets his answering service. But of course she’d get the answering service, it’s four in the morning and he’s got that armor to contend with and - 

She realizes she should probably say something, as her message spins out in silence.

“Heyyyyyyyy!” _Yeah, that’s a good start. Nice and casual. Because we’re casual, right?_ “It’s me!” _That’s right, Kryn, stay cool_. “So here I am on Nar Shaddaa, and -”

Marr appears. “Kryn?” His voice is sleep-fuzzy and slightly bewildered, and she grins hard enough to make her cheeks ache as he peers off to the side, at his chrono, likely. “Are you calling me at four in the morning?”

“Is it _four_?” she asks, trying for innocence, her voice trailing upward. “I hadn’t realized. I just thought I should say hi.”

His mouth twitches. “Hello, Kryn.”

 _That’s right, I should probably have something to talk about_. “So, um, how are you?”

He rubs his palm over the scruff on his face. _I wake up every damned night thinking of you, and it’s driving me mad_. “My sleep schedule has been off lately. So, still kind of tired, to be honest.”

“Right, because you were sleeping when I called. I, ah ….” _My sisters basically forced me to admit I love you, and now I kind of want to say to you just see what you’d say_. She shakes her head. “No, I can’t say that,” she mutters. “Nope.”

“You can’t say what?”

She giggles. “I don’t remember.” Swinging her legs up onto the bed, she stretches out and bunches the pillow under her head. _I forgot how comfortable my bed is_. “I just wanted to ….” She trails off, sinking deeper into her pillow.

He waits. When she starts to snore softly, he stifles a laugh and disconnects.


	16. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn returns from Nar Shaddaa and spends a quiet night in. She and Marr each share a fantasy and agree to fulfill them.

[1]  
He eyes his holocom. Again. He’s been debating calling her, on and off, for the last two hours, which is easily the most ridiculous thing he’s ever done. His face twists in a scowl; this mooning around like a lovesick nerf is ending _right now_. He is a lord of the Sith and will behave as such, and he keys her frequency with no small amount of force.

Kryn, blue and shimmery, flickers into view. “Darth Marr!" she chirps, hands on her hips. "What inevitable doom is facing the Empire, requiring a woman of my unsurpassed skills and talents to stave it off?”

He shakes his head. “No catastrophes today. I was merely calling to inquire when you are expected to arrive back in Kaas City.”

“Ah.” She consults her chrono. “I should be home by eight tonight.”

“Come over for dinner?”

A smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. “Well, it’ll be awfully difficult to pass on the takeout I was going to grab on the way back to my house, but I suppose I can make the sacrifice.”

“Before you go,” he says casually, as though the idea has just occurred to him and he hasn’t been wondering about it since they last spoke, “you were going to tell me something when you called. What was it?”

Kryn raises an eyebrow in confusion. “I never called you. What are you talking about?”

“You’re not using the _I don’t remember_ excuse, are you?” He’s sure she’s yanking his chain, and now he’s more curious than ever.

“Remember what?”

“Calling me when you got back from Club Vertica.”

“Very funny. I didn’t call you and you know it.” She wags a finger at him. “You’re just trying to mess with me. Clearly you shouldn’t be left to your own devices for so long if this poor attempt at humor is what results.” 

“I …." He considers arguing, but decides not to push the matter. “I’ll see you tonight.”

[2]  
The door whispers open, revealing Kryn shouldering a very large bag, which she drops with a thump just inside the door. "Honey, I'm hooooome," she calls in an obnoxious singsong, her voice rising over the music wafting out of the speakers.

He briefly entertains the idea of pointing out the inherent silliness in calling a Sith lord _honey_ , but anytime he tries to curtail her obnoxiousness, she simply amplifies it until he regrets saying anything. In light of that, _honey_ really isn’t the worst that could happen. "In the kitchen!"

Kryn runs her hands through her hair, trying to tame the waves, then straightens her belt, which has been pulled sideways by her bag. A quick check of her clothes and lipstick in the window and she strides into the brightly-lit room. "This was definitely a better choice than takeout; it smells delicious."

Two steaks are resting on a cutting board and a plate of thick-sliced bread is in the center of the otherwise bare table. "Set the table?" he asks as he checks something in a covered pot. "All I had time to do was slice the bread. Oh, and there’s a bowl of salad in the fridge. You can just set the plates next to the steaks."

She pulls out plates and silverware. "Wine glasses?"

"Yes, and get the blumfruit red. It's the one with the unnecessarily fancy label."

"Alderaanians," Kryn mutters derisively. She lifts the bottle off the rack and sets it in the center of the table, then fetches the opener and sets it next to the bottle. The salad is next, set near the bread.

"Only other thing is soup bowls." He stirs the contents of the pot, sets the lid in the sink and turns the heat off, then surveys his work and nods, satisfied. "I'm going to skip the serving dishes this time. Less cleanup."

She pulls down two wide, shallow bowls and brings them over, peering into the pot. "You really went all out. What’s this?”

"Vegetable bisque.” He ladles soup into both bowls. “I hadn't made one in awhile.” As Kryn takes the bowls to the table, he places a steak on each plate before he brings them over, handing Kryn hers after she sits down.

"So, how was your trip?" he asks as he scoops some salad onto his plate. 

She smiles, buttering a slice of bread. "It was good. We don't all get together very often, so when we do it gets a little crazy. I can't believe that -" She abruptly closes her mouth.

"What?"

"I ... can't tell you. I told you I'm not talking about my Republic sisters." She scowls. "And it's such a good story, too."

"Tell me."

Kryn bites her lip, considering, then shakes her head. "No. The less you know about them, the better. Plausible deniability."

"Not budging on this, are you?" He spears a piece of steak on his fork.

"No. But I did win a pretty decent stack of credits on the slots." She grins. "We'll have to spend it on something fancy and extravagant."

"How about dinner and a night at the Imperial Symphony?" He stirs his soup, tries it, smiles with pleasure. "This turned out well. Anyway, the symphony performs on the opening night of the gala, and I thought we might attend." A wry chuckle. "Well, you and Darth Aphotic, that is. We'd have to use your box for the main performance, but I have tickets for a patrons' performance that I'll give you. It's before the main show, so we'd just have to go to dinner a little earlier than usual."

"Wait, I have a box at the symphony?"

"Of course. Each Council member does."

"The perks of this job get better and better." She raises an eyebrow. "How'd you end up with patron tickets?"

"It's important to support Imperial culture," he says. "Better credits go to that than just sitting in my account accumulating dust."

"Hmm." Her expression turns thoughtful. "I'm not sure Darth Aphotic is really up to the sartorial challenge."

He sets his fork down and narrows his eyes at her. "Are you saying I can't dress well enough to be seen with you?"

"I'm certainly implying it." A mischievous smile curves her mouth. 

"I think you'll be eating those words." He sweeps a torn piece of bread around his plate. "I hope I remember to take a holo of your expression."

"I'll be sure to remind you." She sighs as she spears her last piece of steak. "I love going out to Nar Shaddaa, but I'm so glad to be home." She stacks her dishes as she chews. "Shall we just do the dishes now so they're out of the way?"

[3]  
It comes as no surprise to either of them that they both have fantasies that involve the submission of the other. 

He's up to his elbows in soapy water when he nudges her, sending the liquid sloshing against the sides of the sink. “Tell me one of your fantasies, Kryn.”

“Becoming empress,” she promptly answers as she dries a plate, sounding like she’s been waiting for this question. “The statues would be far more attractive, I would give fantastic speeches, I’d be sure to come to every Dark Council meeting." She pauses, a wicked smile on her face. "And you, Darth Marr ... you haven't bent your knee to anyone in what, forty years? But you would bow to me. Maybe even call me _my lord_. That would be delightful.” She nudges him back. “Tell me one of yours.”

His answer is just as quick, as he submerges the soup pot. “Teaching the most insubordinate Councilor I’ve ever met - that would be you, in case you're unsure - how to respect authority.”

There’s a brief pause, then Kryn grins. “We Sith are so predictable sometimes.” She sets the plates back in the cabinet, then looks over at him. “Oh! Shall we fulfill them?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, now?”

She sighs. “No. But …." She taps her chin, considering. "Let's say they have to be fulfilled before we return from the bloodflower ceremony. With no warning, of course; that would spoil the fun.”

He looks skeptical. “You’d really ....?”

“If _you_ would.” She cocks an eyebrow. “You're far less likely to do it than I am.”

He can’t shake the feeling that he’s being challenged. “Is that so? Very well, I agree. Let's do this.” He dries his arms on her towel, plucks it out of her hands, and tosses it in the general direction of the counter, then picks her up. "But right now, I think we've spent the requisite amount of time doing proper, polite things, yes?"

She giggles, wraps her legs around his waist, threads her fingers through his hair and kisses his forehead. "Well, I didn’t want to say anything since you made such a lovely meal, but you probably could have skipped cooking altogether."

“I did invite you over for dinner,” he says, heading for the stairs. “And now it’s time for dessert.”

Her mouth draws into a thin line before she can’t hold the laughter back anymore, amusement muffled as she collapses against his shoulder. “That was terribly cheesy. I’m assuming you picked it up in a cantina?”

“I’ll have you know that line worked quite well for the man I stole it from,” he huffs.

She grins, catches his earlobe between his teeth. “We can just pretend it was something far more smooth, as you have quite literally swept me off my feet.”

“Nonsense.” His expression grows haughty. “I simply _made_ it that smooth with my immense charm.”

“All right, charmer, stop talking and kiss me.”

[4]  
Four days later, Kryn is at her desk finalizing her packing list for Korriban and is just about ready to leave for the afternoon when her holocom chimes. 

Marr's voice is stern, nearly angry. “Darth Nox. I require your presence.”

She raises an eyebrow at his formality and doesn’t answer right away as she mentally runs through a list of what she could have possibly done to irritate him this time. “Very well, Darth Marr. I will be there momentarily.”

He meets her at the door of his office, though he addresses Bryasere. “Second, we are not to be interrupted for any reason. _Any_ reason.”

She nods, wondering what Nox has done to finally push Marr over the edge. “Yes, my lord.”

Kryn closes the door as Marr makes his way to his desk, then sets her hand on her hip. “Now what is all this about?”

To her great surprise, he slouches in his chair, legs splayed, a deity waiting for a supplicant. His voice is commanding, brooking no argument. “You have disrespected me for the last time, and it’s past time you learn your place.” 

The sharp sting of pain in her chest and _what are you doing_ are swiftly subsumed by a whipcrack of anger. She has not risen this far to be spoken to in such a manner. "Are you getting enough oxygen in that suit, Darth Marr?" she asks. "Because last I checked, we're equals. And if you wish to alter the parameters of ... this," she snaps, beckoning between them, "this is an exceedingly poor way to go about it."

"That kind of attitude is exactly what I'm talking about," he says, unfazed by her blistering ire. "I would think someone of your background would be more obedient."

"Someone of my - more - " She has to clench her hands into fists to resist flinging lightning at his face. "Well, then I am happy to disappoint. I expect you'll want me out of your sight, then?" Not waiting for an answer, she turns on her heel, bound for the door before she does something she might regret later.

"Nox." 

Something in the way he says her name gives her pause, and she slowly faces him.

"I want you on your knees," he rumbles as her gaze strays to where he's now unfastening his greaves. His expression stays hidden behind his mask, but he watches realization flicker across her features before her face once again smooths into a neutral expression, and he considers how best to disrupt that careful facade. "I want to fuck your mouth, and watch you lick me from your swollen lips.” 

In an instant excitement is radiating from her, utterly at odds with her outwardly calm mien. _Damn him_. She takes an involuntary step forward as his cock springs free and he strokes himself with one armored hand.

As imperious as he would be on the bridge of his command ship, he lets the silence spin out longer than normal before he snaps his fingers and points at the floor. “Approach.” 

Kryn crosses the expanse with quick steps and stops in front of him, hands folded together, head bowed demurely, giving no sign of how her pulse is thundering in her ears. She sinks silently to her knees and waits, breathless at the idea of submitting in the center of the citadel. Her fingers twitch toward him before she clasps them together that much more tightly, waiting for his command.

He’s been prepared for her to put up more resistance, and her enthusiastic participation is making it difficult to remember what it is he wants to say. He takes a deep breath, determined to focus. “Do you want it?”

She isn’t sure if he wants her to be defiant or immediately give in, but her inclination to be truculent has evaporated. “Yes.”

He clucks his tongue. “Yes, what?”

She leans in, looking up at him entreatingly, fingers of one hand lightly curled around his calf. "Yes, my lord."

Holding still and pretending to be uninterested is becoming harder by the minute, even more so when he brushes the tip of his cock against those soft, pliant lips. "Take it."

She slides her mouth over him with a needy moan as he laces his hands behind his head, dragging her tongue along his length. She murmurs meaningless syllables as she takes him again, cheeks hollowing; he rolls his hips, biting his lip, and she smiles when he twitches in her mouth.

He watches her head bob, tells himself to wait, deliberately holds back and savors the slow burn of wanting beginning to course through him. His hands close into fists when he thinks about burying them in her hair, his breath growing more shallow with every noise she makes. 

Kryn looks up at him as she swirls her tongue around the tip. Her lips are glistening, already red and swollen, when she pulls back. "My lord, you could fuck me better if you were standing." 

A split second passes, then he’s pushing her back and getting out of his chair, and she can’t conceal her eagerness as he closes the scant distance between them. “Oh, _yes_ ,” she murmurs before obediently opening her mouth again.

He buries his hands in her carefully styled hair and slides into her, groaning when she grabs his ass and takes him, wetness and heat and need. He grunts, tightens his grip on her hair as he tries to retain what's left of his self control, and she moans, the vibration weakening his knees, and pulls back. 

"Fuck me." He thrusts into her once, knowing he has to take this slow or it's going to be over much sooner than he wants, but she's relentless. "I want it all. I want every last drop of you."

He obliges, eyes riveted on how her lips look wrapped around his cock, the greedy way she sucks on it, how her hips are rolling. "And you'll get it," is torn from him as his hips buck against her. She takes all of him, takes him with a smile, licking her lips as she pulls back to tongue a drop of precum off the tip. Her moan of pleasure is utterly debauched, and he dimly realizes, as the slow burn explodes into a conflagration, that she's almost wrested control of this whole scenario from him. 

Almost.

Augmenting his hold with the Force so he doesn't hurt her more than she likes, he yanks her to her feet by her hair, clears space on his desk with a swift gesture, and lifts her onto it, shoving her legs apart. She's practically writhing before he even touches her, and he smiles when he realizes she's been wet this whole time.

"But you'll get it how I say you'll get it," he says as he positions himself at her entrance. She reaches for his mask; he slaps her hand away and thrusts into her hard enough to shake the desk, pleased when she strains to keep quiet, hardly more than a whimper passing her lips. One more thing he can command her to do. "Scream for me, Nox."

She draws a gasping breath, a flicker of common sense filtering through the haze of desire. "But the others ….“

He hauls her upright, sweeps her cape off her shoulders, and pulls a section of it taut between his hands. "Open.” She obeys, and he fits the makeshift gag in her mouth, then leans close to her ear. "I want to know just how much you’re enjoying this.“ He pushes her back and enters her again in one smooth motion, his thighs hitting the desk when he thrusts into her. 

Her muted scream is just loud enough for him to hear, but doesn’t carry beyond the two of them. It rises each time he hilts himself in her, and she scrabbles at his armor, fingers drifting over scoring from lightsabers and blaster bolts. 

He wraps his arms around her legs, fingers digging into her thighs as the desk scrapes across the floor. His willpower is focused on holding out until she’s closer, but it evaporates in an instant when a strangled gasp is wrung from her as her back arches. He bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood as he comes, muffling his own exclamation as he shudders, palms braced on the edge of the desk as she tightens around him.

After a long moment she finally relaxes, slumping back against the stack of datapads on the desk. "Really been holding onto that, haven't you? It's not healthy to carry grudges like that."

He's still breathing hard, chest heaving. "You have no idea how infuriating you were those first few months." 

Her laugh is breathy as she sits up, fixing her hair. "Of course I do! That was all very carefully crafted to drive you to the brink of distraction, but not beyond it. I am an inquisitor, after all. I must keep my skills sharp."

“At my expense.”

She smiles. “It had been far too long since anyone challenged you. You were overdue.”

He rights his armor and sits back in his chair. "Ready for Korriban?”

"Still need to pack, and Ashara and Xalek should be back tomorrow." She smiles. "Want to tag along with me?"

He shakes his head. "I'd like to, but -"

"Appearances," she sneers, making a face. "We can murder with impunity, but no one can possibly know you and I get along."

They've had this conversation more than a few times, and it always goes the same way. "It would be strategically unsound to reveal our alliance before we have a majority of the Council on our side."

"I know. I just think it's ridiculous." She stands, smoothing out her skirt and draping her cape back over her shoulders. "Someday, people are going to know. Are you sure you can handle that?”

"I'm sure I can summon the intestinal fortitude when that day comes," he says, deadpan. "Until then, you're just going to have to handle the fact that it's our secret."

She heaves a dramatic sigh. "I suppose I'll muddle through somehow. I've got reports from Yavin Four to start reading and filing, so I probably won't see you before Korriban. Sure I can't convince you to come with us?" When he nods, she shrugs. "Your loss." She removes his mask and presses a gentle kiss to his mouth, then replaces it before striding across the office. She pauses at the door, turns back to him. "By the way ... I owe you for that _someone of your background_ line. I'm very much looking forward to delivering retribution for that one." Giving him a cheery wave, she opens the door. "I'll see you in four days."


	17. An Afternoon on Korriban

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sith gather for the bloodflower ceremony, and students at the Academy receive an impromptu combat demonstration.

[1]  
The warm breeze lifts Kryn’s lace cape as she steps out into the bright Korriban sunlight, Ashara and Xalek a few steps behind her. The path leading to the site is teeming with a who’s who of Sith society, Darths and lords and favored acolytes, dressed in everything from armor to elaborate robes. Conversations are low but excited, as no Sith has seen the bloodflower bloom in over a thousand years and attendance at the ceremony is a clear mark of status.

A hooded figure bumps into Kryn as they slip past her. “Pardon me, Darth Nox.”

She peers up at the figure, eyebrows rising in surprise. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still on Yavin Four."

“I couldn’t very well miss this ceremony,” Scourge says, smiling. “After all, this is the first blooming we’ve been able to witness since the Great Hyperspace War. But I do need to stay unnoticed, and your presence is required with the rest of the Council. I just wanted to say hello.” He inclines his head, then melts back into the crowd.

The bloodflower is in the center of a roped-off area newly inlaid with intricately carved stone, attended by an acolyte from the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge. It reaches nearly to Kryn’s waist, dark stalk curving gracefully, still-furled feathered petals black even in the afternoon light. Kryn nods to the acolyte as she passes, then indicates the tiered seating surrounding two sides of the flower. “Ashara and Xalek, this is where you’ll sit when the ceremony starts, but let’s see who’s here first.” 

She makes her way through the crowd and ascends the stairs to the dais erected on the third side of the site. “Tell me we don’t have assigned seating,” she quips to no one in particular as she pretends to check the chairs for name labels. “Or if we do, at least tell me I’m not sitting next to Ravage.”

Marr and Mortis, deep in conversation at the end of the row of chairs, look over as one when she speaks, then exchange a glance. “I see, or hear, rather, that Nox has arrived.” Mortis chuckles. “What an unlikely person for _you_ to have put on the Council. She couldn’t be more different from Thanaton. Did you know what you were getting into, I wonder?"

"Assuredly not," Marr says as he turns. People shift, and Kryn is suddenly in front of him. Her crimson and ebony dress shimmers even in the shade of the dais, the sleeveless bodice encrusted with tiny gems that sparkle like the stars that blanket Korriban’s night sky. A wide choker of onyx and flame gems circles her throat, holding the cape in place, and her eye covering is simple black silk, anchored by combs tucked into her hair. 

She is the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on, and for a moment he forgets to breathe. Grateful his mask hides his expression, he swallows hard and keeps his tone calmly professional. “Darth Nox. I see you managed to make it on time for once.”

“Indeed I did.” A smile lifts one corner of her mouth. “I was hoping you’d notice. This knocks off one of those times I was late to a Council meeting, yes?”

As Marr opens his mouth to answer, ignoring Mortis’ poorly concealed laughter behind him, a voice rises above the low conversations. “Nox.”

Kryn’s lip curls in annoyance. “Pardon me, Darth Marr.” It smooths into a placid expression as she turns. “Darth Ravage. And here I was hoping you’d be too busy to talk to me. Ever again.”

He ignores this, looking entirely too pleased with whatever he’s about to say. “As the head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, it falls to you to give the speech today. I assume you knew this and are prepared.”

Kryn doesn’t look away from the smug smile on Ravage’s face. “Xalek.”

“My lord.” The Kaleesh steps forward and presses a datapad, wrapped in a decorative black leather case, into Kryn’s outstretched hand. 

“Thank you. You and Ashara may take your seats.”

“As you command.” They bow, then make their way off the dais, melting into the crowd.

Kryn turns her attention back to Ravage. “How fortunate, then, that I am insatiably curious, and have been researching the bloodflower for the last month.” She holds up the case. “I even brought my research with me so I could keep my own account of this century’s ceremony to add to the volume. I’ll be sure to annotate that it started with a lackluster attempt to embarrass a Dark Councilor.” A satisfied smirk curves her mouth. “Catching me out when it comes to history is far beyond _your_ meager skills, Ravage. Perhaps you ought to stick to your strengths, whatever those happen to be. I’m sure you have at least one. Now take your seat. The ceremony will begin in ….” She checks her chrono. “Eight minutes.”

Anger blazes in Ravage’s eyes, and his slitted gaze flickers over her dress, noting her lack of weaponry.

“Please assume I’m powerless without my lightsaber,” Kryn chirps in a tone that wouldn’t be out of place if she was inviting him to tea. “Give me the opportunity to spill your blood on the sands of Korriban, in front of all these Sith, so everyone can know how utterly mediocre you truly are.”

The dais has fallen silent as the rest of the Council watches this exchange, and Ravage's fingers curl around the hilt of his lightsaber, his chest rising and falling with each sharp breath. After a long moment he turns away, stalking toward the last chair in the row. “You’re not worth my time, Nox.”

“Keep thinking that, Ravage,” she says to his receding back, before looking at Marr. “What?”

He sighs. “Must you antagonize him every time you see him?”

Kryn can’t quite stifle a giggle. “He started it this time, but yes, I must. It’s one of my great joys in life.” She checks her chrono again. “But you’ll have to lecture me later. Please excuse me.” She makes her way to the podium at the front of the dais, then looks over at the acolyte, who nods. “If everyone could take their seats, the ceremony will begin momentarily.”

As Mortis settles into his chair, he leans over to Marr. “How long until she finally pushes Ravage over the edge, do you think?”

Marr can’t keep all the amusement out of his voice. “With my interference, or without? Without, I’m not entirely sure they’ll both leave Korriban alive.”

Kryn clears her throat, scrolls through her notes as the assembled crowd falls quiet. As the sun’s rays first touch the petals, they wake slow and languid, unwrapping from around each other. If she times it right, she can finish her speech just as it blooms, which would be a lovely touch of drama.

“When our ancestors were defeated at the Battle of Corbos, run out of their homes and the known galaxy by the fanatical Jedi, they did not lay down and die like our enemies so desperately wanted. They drifted through the silence of the galaxy, set foot upon these red sands, and established the first Sith Empire far from the prying eyes of those that hated them and would see them destroyed.” 

The petals have opened enough that she can catch a glimpse of the brilliant red within. 

“It has been more than a millennia since we have been able to see the bloodflower bloom, but like it, we have risen time and again from long slumbers to reassert our dominance upon the galaxy. Our Empire is flowering: culture and music, literature and scientific advancement, defense of our people and offense against our enemies. We have wrested worlds and peoples away from the Republic, watched them get bogged down in hopeless bureaucracy while we commit to decisive action, put the lie to the Jedi's vaunted pacifism every time we encounter them. No matter how they rail against us, how they wish to destroy us, we are still here!” 

A glance at the flower, and she knows she’ll have to rearrange her remarks: the blossom is nearly open. “Before I continue, let us observe one of our most sacred traditions.” 

Absolute silence falls over the collected Sith as the sun alights fully on the bloodflower; it opens completely, its large black petals shot through with a startling crimson reminiscent of oxygenated blood. Fat drops of scarlet nectar drop onto the sand, sinking into the orange-red grains.

“Our traditions have made us who we are, but we must also remember that behind every tradition is one person asking _how can we make this better? How can we do this better? How can we fully grasp our destiny?_ Our greatest strength has always been our adaptability, and at this bloodflower ceremony, this commemoration of our longevity as a people, I would exhort you to look to new ways to strengthen our Empire.” 

Marr straightens almost imperceptibly in his chair, one eyebrow arching toward his hairline, already planning damage control if, for some unfathomable reason, she decides to take a page out of Malgus’ book and demand the Empire change all at once.

Kryn knows she’s treading a rather thin line at this point, but she won’t censor her words just to spare too-delicate egos, and the sooner people start considering the possibility of change, the better. “Do not cling to tradition purely because _that is how we have always done it_. While the Republic is weakened, pulled in a thousand directions at once, let us pull in one direction together.”

Taking a deep breath, she flings her arms wide. “We have survived another century!” she proclaims, sunlight glittering on the gems in her hair and dress. “Gather your courage, muster your forces, see beyond petty differences and myopic power plays, and reach for the future in unity, not division!”

A cheer rings through the afternoon air, though Kryn is unsurprised to note that it is punctuated by a few low murmurs. Groups stand and a crush of people make their way forward, all eager to see the bloodflower; it will take hours for everyone to finally clear the area. She notices Xalek and Ashara waiting by their seats, and closes the case on her datapad, making a mental note to add her account to the collection later.

"Darth Nox." Marr stops Kryn just before she exits the dais. 

“Darth Marr.” Her tone takes on just a hint of chastisement. “You neglected to mention I’d have to give a speech. I could have used a little more than one minute’s preparation time.”

A faint note of sarcasm creeps into his voice. “Despite your numerous jests suggesting otherwise, I wasn’t at the last ceremony. And as the head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, shouldn’t you have known you would have to give a speech?” She makes a face, and he holds up a hand to stave off her argument. “Yours was impressive, though I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that you’d close with some controversial statements.” 

She shrugs, unrepentant as ever. “If telling people to work toward the greater good of the Empire is controversial, then we have bigger problems than we realized.”

“Be that as it may, we are not so far removed from Malgus that we can speak that freely.” He indicates the stairs, and they cross the sand side by side, Marr shortening his steps so as not to outpace her. "I'm conducting a combat demonstration in the main training room in two hours and require an opponent. If you've no pressing commitments and are willing, we could open the demonstration to those training in sorcery as well."

Kryn nods, excitement playing across her face. "A fine idea. I'll see you in two hours."

[2]  
Sith and acolytes are spilling out of every door of the training room when Kryn arrives; she slips through the crowd, making her way to Marr’s side. "Maybe we ought to move this outdoors. It looks like everyone in the Academy is here. Even Harkun is here, and I thought he'd rather eat his own arm than be within a kilometer of me ever again."

“I’m unsurprised,” he says, just a touch of humor in his tone. “But you’re right. The area in front of the Academy should be large enough to accommodate everyone.” He turns to address the assemblage. “Due to the unexpectedly large number of people here, we will be moving this demonstration outside.”

They stand at the foot of the stairs as people flow around them in search of the best vantage points and seating. Students are choosing sides, exchanging mostly good-natured jabs; private grievances appear to have been set aside as Darths speculate on the possible outcome. Zhorrid is chatting animatedly with an overseer; Ravage is standing stiffly near the front, his expression sharp. 

Kryn, hands on her hips, gives him a jaunty salute, then looks up at Marr. "Are you sure you want to lose in front of all these people?" He can feel her grinning under her helm. "Did my mention of your fight at Corbos get your blood pumping?"

He ignores her quip. "With me." He moves to stand in the approximate center of the open area, Kryn to his right, and holds up his hands. The crowd quiets for the most part, though there are still furtive bets being placed here and there. "This is, first and foremost, a demonstration of combat technique for the students, both melee and sorcery. Overseer Rance, Lord Samus, bring your advanced students down to the front."

The two instructors swiftly obey, gathering a sizable group at the fore of the shifting crowd.

Marr addresses them directly. "As you are no doubt aware, you are required to give your best to support the Empire, and this includes mastering your abilities. Observe closely. Hone your skills. Become a force to be reckoned with."

He takes a step back from Kryn and inclines his head. She does the same, summoning a crackling shield as he strides away. He draws his saber before he crouches and leaps toward her, a cloud of sand puffing out behind him. The crowd erupts in a roar when his saber crashes into the shield with a shower of sparks. Kryn stomps her foot, blasting him backward with a burst of energy, conjuring a Force storm over his head as he lands.

The smell of ozone fills the late afternoon air as delicate, deadly veins strike the ground. Marr dives away, dodging the storm, but a wide bolt fired from Kryn’s hand slams into his leg. He springs to his feet with a growl, channels the pain into aggression, Force-projected roar sending Kryn staggering. Pressing his advantage, he rains blows on her in a breakneck velocity, the pop-hiss of their clashing sabers the only sound until she calls down an explosive lightning strike. It flares eye-searingly bright, the crowd’s gasp audible as smoke rises from his armor.

She catches his muttered expletive and then she becomes a blur, jamming her saber back onto her belt and speeding past him. Sand trails in her wake; dust coats her boots when she stops and turns, swirling purple appearing between her slender hands. She flings the stormy sphere with a shout and the thunderclap engulfs him; his ears ring, the roar of the crowd white noise as he pursues her across the sand. 

A balletic spinning strike grazes her arm because she’s too distracted watching him. Scowling, cursing her loss of focus, Kryn hurriedly knits the wound and channels lightning through arched fingers, determined to finish this. He's forced to plant one foot, catching the bolts with his saber. They’re near mirror images of each other, heedless of the noise of the people around them, violet and white spidering around crimson.

 _Surrender. You know victory is mine._ His outward appearance is stoic, but she can feel the energy thrumming in his veins, his sheer joyous love of combat. _You will flag long before I will; you’re expending far more energy._

She's grateful her helm hides her grin. _Are you sure? You sound pretty winded._ It also hides her cheeks, flushed as they are with exertion, and the way she can't tear her gaze from him. _Shall we call it a draw?_

 _Unless you wish this to be a true bout, that would be for the best._ A pause. _On three. One. Two. Three._

They straighten, take a step back, then bow to the other. The instructors gather their students, already breaking down the match, analyzing each move. One of the acolytes raises their hand and asks a question, drawing Marr’s attention. Kryn threads her way through the still-enthused crowd, bound for the cafeteria.

“You used your saber, Nox,” Ravage taunts as she passes him. “I thought you didn’t need it.”

She doesn’t even slow her step. “I won’t need it for you,” she spits, the last word infused with venom.

“Darth Nox!” Zhorrid does a little wave to catch Kryn’s attention, then crosses toward her, acolytes swiftly moving out of her way. “I’d like to stop by sometime tonight; I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“Of course, Zhorrid. You’re a night owl like me, yes? Feel free to come by late, that way we can talk uninterrupted.”

Zhorrid nods. “Excellent. I’ll see you then.” She melts back into the crowd.

Pausing at the top of the staircase, Kryn turns, seeking out Marr, who is demonstrating a technique for the assembled students. She watches him for a long moment before reaching out and touching his mind. _My suite, tonight, nine o’clock._

Saber to saber with an acolyte, he gives no outward sign that he even heard her, but his response is immediate. _As you wish._


	18. An Evening on Korriban

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turnabout is fair play: Marr got his, it's time for Kryn to get hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of 17, but combined it would have been a doorstopper of a chapter, and my beta very wisely suggested I split it. :)

Kryn’s fingers dance over the keypad next to her door; it whispers open, revealing Marr. "I am pleased you answered my summons." Her voice skews into something darker, more dangerous, as she steps back out of the doorway. "Do come in."

Each Councilor's suite is designed for the utmost privacy, and the sounds in the hallway disappear as the door closes behind him. Three of the walls in the main room are lined with shelves holding an eclectic array of pieces from Kryn’s vaults, everything from holocrons to tablets to urns, most fairly humming with the dark side. The fourth wall is hung with artwork, two couches pushed up against it. The only lights burning are the ones shining on the shelves, and the majority of the room is wide open and almost romantically dim. 

She leads him to the center of the room, then takes a step back. “Wait here.” Pivoting smartly, she disappears into her bedroom, re-emerging in her now-cleaned combat armor. As she settles onto one of the couches, she flicks her fingers at him. “Remove your armor and put it on the rack.”

Not mentioning the glimpse of stiletto he catches when she crosses her legs, he stares at her for a moment, then pulls his armor off piece by piece and hangs it up on the rack in the corner before returning to the center of the room.

Standing, she inspects the armor, trailing her fingers over it. “What a fantastic trophy to add to my collection,” she says, gaze fixed on him when she turns to prowl around him, and he's not sure if she means his armor or him. “It certainly adds a bit of flair to the room.” She _tsk_ s as she plucks at his fitted tunic. “Take this off, as well.”

Raising an eyebrow, he does as she says, then stands there with it in his hand, clad only in similarly tight black breeches. She takes it, tosses it on the couch, and then gestures negligently. His hands are pulled behind his back and bound together.

“Nox, what in the -”

She steps in front of him, hands clasped behind her back, voice deathly serious. “Darth Marr, it is my understanding that you have colluded with a traitor. I am here to realign your loyalties.”

His expression hardens. Even knowing this is all a game, he can't quash the flare of indignation at the accusation, silently impressed that she chose such a touchy subject. “You have been misinformed, Darth Nox.”

“In that case, you will have no problem pledging your loyalty, will you?" She snaps her fingers and points at the luxurious black carpet, indicating a spot at her feet. “And do be sure to address me properly.”

He’s not sure he’d have been able to comply even if he’d wanted to. His jaw clenches and his lip curls in a snarl. “Never.” He pulls at the bonds, testing their strength.

“I guess we’ll just have to do this the hard way.” Her voice is clear, light and sweet and incongruous given her words and the stillness of the suite. "It's useless to struggle. You know you can't sever those." 

He stands straight and silent, eyes flashing, jaw set. The curves of his bared chest are highlighted by the low light as he continues subtly probing the Force bonds.

"You know," she muses, "I can make you bow." She gestures again, and he's forced to his knees. "See?"

"You can. But it isn't satisfying, is it?" A knowing smirk pulls at his mouth as he looks up at her. "No need to answer that."

She smiles and allows him to stand, then levitates until her lips graze the curve of his ear. “It would be quite simple," she purrs, her fingers combing through his hair and skimming his neck, "to make this easy on yourself. You bow to me. _I am yours, my lord_ falls from that perfect mouth. And you spend the most memorable night you've ever had on Korriban." 

Persuasion born of the Force weaves through her words as she drags a fingertip along the curve of his lower lip. For a moment, he is sorely tempted, his pride looking like more and more of a mediocre consolation prize compared to what she's offering in that voice tinged vermilion with lust. But he refuses to lose this battle of wills this soon and says nothing, staring straight ahead, concentration fixed on bolstering his resolve. He’s sure he can ignore her breath on his skin and the scent of everlily in the air if he only tries hard enough.

When he doesn’t answer, she captures his chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning his face toward her, her lips nearly touching his. "Darth Marr, will you acquiesce?"

He grits his teeth, unable to shake the feeling he's making a grave mistake. "I will not."

"If you wish to play at being Jedi, I won't stop you." Her brilliant smile further erodes his confidence in his decision. “You think you're in control ... but I will see you break. And you will be mine, in every way that I demand. Shall we begin?”

She settles soundlessly onto the carpet. A light grip on his arm turns him; she traces a line down the center of his chest and pushes him backward, augmenting her own strength with the Force. He lands on the couch with a thump, eyebrow arching as she rucks her skirt up enough to straddle him and settle onto his lap with far more adjusting than necessary, every movement designed to send ripples of desire through him.

"I'm glad you said no," she murmurs in his ear before she draws the lobe into her mouth. "I want you to resist." Warmth and wetness on his neck as she trails kisses toward his shoulder. "I want to revel in your struggle against our nature." Sudden pressure that almost forces a gasp from him as her teeth close, just for a moment, around the delicate skin. "And you are proving so very talented at giving me what I want."

He closes his eyes, his breaths slow and steady, willing himself to be calm and unmoved, to think of naval maneuvers, Council meetings, training velocities. Anything but her weight, her warmth, _her_.

A smile wreaths her face as his body betrays him and he stirs beneath her. Her nails skim across his collarbone and along his arms, hard enough to leave red lines in their wake, and no number of silent mantras can stop his cock from hardening, stretching the black fabric of the trousers. 

She takes a deep breath. "Will you kneel?"

"No," he snaps, steeling himself for whatever punishment she no doubt already has planned.

She rolls her hips, not even trying to stifle her moan. "Well, I guess if you don't want to participate, I'll just have to take care of myself," she murmurs as she slides along his length, "though I much prefer it when _you_ do. Are you sure you won't - " She hisses a breath through her teeth.

He's suddenly much less confident in how long he can keep this up now that he's pinned on the couch and unable to tear his eyes from her. It strikes him that she's _using_ him, taking her pleasure utterly and unapologetically, her hands now buried in his hair as she writhes on his lap. She made an offer, he stupidly refused, and now she's going to continue without him. His hands are shaking with how badly he wants her, with the effort required to keep himself under control.

Her gasps spiral in pitch and she throws her head back, hair spilling down her back; he grinds his teeth and looks up at the ceiling, counting to ten, and then twenty, as she trembles against him. After a long moment she stands, breathing hard, flush creeping out of the neckline of her armor as she adjusts her skirt. 

He balls his hands into fists, bites the inside of his cheek. She sees the muscles in his arms twitch and smiles. "Five little bitty words, and this agony goes away," she whispers as she leans close, bracing her hands on the back of the couch. "You can't hide it from me, you know." She pauses just as her lips brush his. "It is singing through every fiber of your being, how badly you want me." 

Pride is a distant whisper drowned in a veritable storm of desire, resolve swept away like so much chaff in the wind. He moves as if to stand, and when she takes a step back, he swiftly drops to one knee, head bowed, senses stretched through the Force to feel her reaction. "My lord?"

A shock of pleasure dances down her spine and threatens to buckle her knees. Her breath catches in her throat, and she has to concentrate to maintain her imperious air, lifting her chin to gaze at him. "Yes?"

He looks up, green eyes blazing, skirting closer to truth than he is willing to admit, even to himself. "I am yours." 

Her mouth falls open, so astonished is she that he actually did it, and the sincerity in his voice makes her toes tingle. Once she regains her equilibrium, she gestures. "Rise."

The Force shackles dissipate as he stands, though to his surprise he isn’t quite ready to relinquish this particular role, not when it elicits such strong emotions in her. "What would you have of me?“ he asks, voice low and rumbling.

She takes a short, surprised breath and grasps at her scattered thoughts. "I … tire of this armor. Remove it.”

Piece by piece, he strips her of it, his fingers gentle on the nape of her neck, the swell of her hip, the curve of her calf, the meager contact doing little to slake his need for her, until she’s clad only in sheer red lingerie and those stilettos he’d glimpsed earlier. Once again on his knees, he gazes at her. “I would give you a kiss, if it pleases you.“

She takes a deep breath and hopes she sounds unmoved, though she isn’t sure how much longer she can calmly respond before she’s rendered mute by a haze of lust. "You may.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss just below her navel, stifling a smile when she can’t hide her gasp. “Shall I continue?”

Her oh, yes is little more than a breath of air, an assent he feels more than hears, and he hooks his fingers into the narrow red strings circling her hips and pulls, watching the wisp of cloth slide to the floor. “My lord, I could … kiss you better if you were seated,” he says in a decent imitation of Kryn five days ago, elated when he feels her pulse begin to race; she'll be clay in his hands the moment his tongue touches her.

She bites her lip at the vivid mental image of her splayed on the couch, his head between her legs, and she's just about to take a step, ready to cast aside the whole game, when she realizes that that's exactly what he wants. "Very clever," she murmurs, and he can't help but smile. Of course he'd had to test her just as she'd tested him, and he's unsurprised she caught him out. "You almost got me." She takes a step back, turns, striding through the door leading to the bedroom. "I wouldn’t keep me waiting."

When he's two steps into the room, she holds up a hand, not rising from where she's now perched on the edge of her bed. He stops, hands behind his back in a more relaxed version of parade rest, and she stalks toward him, pulling on the waistband of his trousers. “Take these off.” Once he does, she wraps her fingers around his cock. "Now see, here I was, all ready for us both to have fun. I didn't know you wanted to be teased a little more. You could have just asked, instead of trying to be sneaky."

His lips flatten into a thin line, the expected protestation already forming in his mouth. "I wasn't - "

She ignores him as something occurs to her. "Oh! One second." Abruptly crossing the room, she rummages through her end table drawer, concealing what she pulls out and then replaces. "It just wouldn't do to do this unprepared." This time, the faintest hint of lightning writhes around her hand and sparks rocket through his body as her fingers, now slick, slip along his shaft. "You know what my favorite part of an orgasm is?" Up and down, incrementally faster, twisting over the head with such finesse that his knees weaken. "It's when the pressure builds, and builds, just like it is now." Her other hand cups his balls, squeezing gently. "And just when you think you're going to explode ...."

She’d told him she’d break him, and now he’s half-worried that she’s on the verge of smiling and thanking him for coming by, just to have the last laugh. He's been on the edge since she rode him earlier; now he's actively leaning into her hand, and she makes no effort to hide her pleased smirk as another strangled groan escapes him. “Ask me for what you want.”

His response is instant, impassioned. “I want to fuck you.”

“You didn’t _ask_.” Her lower lip pokes out and she shakes her head. 

Turning the screws right until the end; he’s grudgingly impressed, even as he makes a mental note to nurse his battered pride later. “Let me fuck you. _Please_.”

She grins. “With a please, even!” She tries, and fails, to sound nonchalant. “Oh, very well. I suppose you’ve -”

He doesn't wait for her to finish before his mouth is on hers in a fierce kiss, his hands skimming her neck, pushing straps off her shoulders, everywhere at once. Sheer fabric falls to the floor and he lifts her up, tossing her onto the bed.

She squeaks with surprise as her head lands amidst her pillows, laughs when she catches a muttered _damn inquisitor_ as he climbs onto the bed after her. "I told you, I'm very good at whatever I put my mind to."

"Driving me to distraction," he growls, grabbing her calves and pulling her toward him. "Obliterating my self-control." He enters her in one swift, sharp movement. "Making me grovel."

She arches her back as he buries himself in her. "That wasn't - _oh!_ \- groveling," she says with difficulty, "and you know it."

He sets her ankles up on his shoulders. "Close enough."

"But that moment, when you finally ...." She trails off, fingers digging into his thighs to pull him closer as he rolls his hips against her. "It was sublime, wasn't it?"

He folds forward, bending to kiss her. "Always." One hand slides into her hair, the other braces against the headboard, and words are lost to primal rhythm, a gasping staccato, the slap of skin against skin. They are a tempest, passion unbound, sweat-slick and panting, mingled release shattering the silence of the room as her nails score his back and he shudders against her.

She laces her fingers with his as he stretches out next to her, lifting them to her lips. "You're quite alluring when you're on your knees," she says, smile teasing the corners of her mouth. "I should have suggested this sooner."

"You better savor that _my lord_ you wrung out of me," he rasps, still short of breath. “That was the last one.”

"I told you there would be retribution for that comment back in your office, didn’t I?" She sits up when her doorbell chimes. "Oh, damn. I forgot she was coming by." Rolling out of bed, she pulls a delicately embroidered dressing gown out of her closet and slips it on, cinching the belt around her waist. She pauses in the doorway, twisting her hair into a simple updo; a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as she studies him, sprawled in her bed. "This shouldn't take long. Stay just like that." Sweeping out the door before he can protest, she closes it behind her and crosses the room.

"Do come in, Zhorrid!" She smiles and takes a step back. "I must confess, I forgot you were coming over tonight and got diverted; please pardon my disheveled appearance."

The younger woman waves off Kryn’s concern as they cross the room and settle onto a couch. “Far be it for me to judge; life is too short to not enjoy yourself. I’ve been thinking about what you suggested at our lunch,” she says without preamble. 

Marr, on the other side of the closed door, decides he's going to indulge his curiosity and be impulsive for once. He rolls off the bed and pulls a towel out of the cabinet in the 'fresher before he heads for the door, raking a hand through his now thoroughly mussed and unruly hair.

“And I think I’m going to take your ….” Zhorrid trails off as Marr emerges, the towel slung precariously low around his hips. 

He bites the inside of his cheek to stifle his smile when he notices Kryn staring. “Pardon me, my lord, for intruding," he murmurs, voice pitched higher than normal. "I am quite thirsty after our … exertions. May I get a drink?”

Zhorrid doesn’t notice the subtle sarcastic inflection on _my lord_ , but Kryn certainly does. She gives her head a quick shake, arranges her features into an appropriately stern expression and snaps her fingers. “Be quick about it, then leave us."

He bows, draws a glass of water, and saunters back through the doorway, leaving both women gawking after him.

“Who _is_ that?” Zhorrid breathes. “I wouldn’t even have left the bedroom, let alone answered the door, if that had been in my bed. I admire your willpower, Nox.”

Kryn flutters a hand, raising her voice just a bit when she sees he left the door open just a crack, unwilling to pass up this chance to yank his chain. “Some lord or other, no doubt bent on furthering his own station and thinking he can accomplish that by sleeping with me.” She grins. “I didn’t particularly care what his name was, what with him looking like that. Know what I mean?”

“Absolutely,” Zhorrid says fervently. A mischievous smile tugs at her mouth. “If you tire of him, do send him my way. But ….” She pauses, gathering her scattered thoughts. “What was I saying?” She snaps her fingers. “That’s right. I’ve been thinking about what you suggested, and I think you’re right. I’m utterly miserable. The Dark Council was my father’s dream, not mine, and I’m so tired of dealing with the incompetence of Sith Intelligence.”

Kryn tamps down her annoyance at the slight, keeping her face pleasantly neutral. “Do you want me to secure you a post elsewhere in the galaxy?" she asks, magnanimous. "It would be quite simple.”

“No. I want to be _free_ ," Zhorrid proclaims, “the way we say we are but can never be while tethered to politics.”

“What are you going to do with all your father’s artifacts? Surely the Empire could make use of such knowledge against our enemies.” Kryn hopes she doesn't sound too eager; anything beyond a delicate touch here and all her plans can come crashing down around her ears.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Zhorrid shrugs as though she couldn’t possibly care less. “You can have them, I suppose. There are worse places for them than the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge.” She leans over and throws her arms around Kryn. “At least you managed to not be horrible to me, Darth Nox. The rest of the Council, that bunch of, of _bullies_ , can go hang as far as I’m concerned. After the opening ceremony, I’m gone. It’s appropriate, I think, claiming my freedom during the Gala of the Stars.”

Kryn, startled, returns the hug. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Zhorrid.”

She grins. “Being away from Dromund Kaas and out from under my father’s shadow, that’s a good start.” Standing, she smooths out her skirt. “It’s late, and I won’t keep you from your exquisite entertainment. I’ll see you back in Kaas City, Nox.”

The door has barely closed behind Zhorrid when Marr, looking quite unhappy, appears in the bedroom doorway. “Kryn, what have you been up to?”

"That's a very good look for you, that towel." Kryn gives him another deliberate once-over as she passes him, discarding the dressing gown on the end of the bed. “And you look exceedingly sullen for a man who just got complimented by two women in the highest echelon of Sith society.”

“You mean the one about how I’m a nameless lord looking to improve my station?” he grouses.

“Well, no, I meant the ones that were actual compliments, not me getting under your skin because you left the door open. Furthermore, to answer your first question, I haven't been up to anything," she says, heading into the fresher, dropping hairpins on the countertop. "I owed my sister a favor and Lana needed assistance, so I took care of it.”

“Took care of it,” he echoes, following her. He lays the towel on the counter, then turns on the shower. “Did she say she was _abdicating_?”

“Yes. She also said you all were awful to her,” Kryn says, glowering at him before she steps under the hot water. “I expect Ravage to be a bully, but you? That's disappointing.”

“Oh, for - " He snorts as he reaches for the soap, pausing to look at the label. "Ladalum and starburst flower; I suppose it could be worse. I didn't bully her, Kryn. You can’t survive on the Council being that thin-skinned. I merely told her that she was not prepared.”

Kryn is unconvinced, her skeptical expression unwavering as she takes the soap from him. “Did you now? Why’s that, because of her age?”

“That’s part of it, yes.”

“And how old were _you_ when you ascended to the Council?” She points vaguely in the direction of the shampoo and holds out her hand.

He ignores that as he hands it to her. “It wasn't just her age. It was because she's too untested, too narcissistic, lacking in the knowledge and skills to effectively govern. You can’t tell me you actually thought Zhorrid was a good Councilor, Kryn. She was running Intelligence into the ground."

“No, I didn’t think she was a good Councilor.” There’s a pause as she steps under the water, soap sluicing along her curves. “But I didn’t insult her to make my point. And if age is any part of your reasoning, you need to take a long, hard look at why you’re being a hypocrite. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said about me, either; you calling me a child is a large part of why I made your life so difficult those first few months.” She sticks her tongue out at him. “Honestly, I was twenty-eight. You deserved everything I threw at you.”

“I ….” He’s quiet longer than Kryn expects, and for a brief moment she wonders if she’s gone too far. “Fine. Perhaps you’re right.” He scowls as he rinses off. “You could have told me what you were doing.”

She wrings the extra water out of her hair, giving him a knowing look. “No, I couldn't have. You would have stopped me with some nonsense about _we’re not supposed to be engaging in political intrigue_. Now it’s done, and there’s nothing to worry about.” She steps out, wrapping a towel around her. “You simply have to play your part and act natural when you read her abdication letter.”

He follows, deep in thought, and after a moment he sighs, tucking in the corner of his towel. "It was well-done; I'll concede that much."

She grins. "I thought so. You know you made it incredibly easy; that girl was desperate for friends. And now Lana can run Sith Intelligence unimpeded." She checks her chrono. "Are you staying the night?"

He shakes his head. "We're in the middle of the Academy. We shouldn't risk it." He leans over, kisses her temple. "But I'll stay another hour or two." He holds out his hand. "Come on. Tell me about these artifacts of yours.”


	19. Tête-à-Tête

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn's decided to spend her Nar Shaddaa winnings on a fancy night out for her and Marr, and the two Sith find themselves on a date.

[1]  
Black armor - fitted, imposing, and meticulously polished - gleams on an armor stand as Marr pulls a small box off his closet shelf. He opens it, revealing a well-kept respirator and a worn yet functional lightsaber. Both have remained unused since he graduated from the Academy, and he’s pleasantly surprised to discover that both still work, though the respirator has always been for appearances, not breathing assistance. A few adjustments, and his normal baritone becomes a modulated tenor before he sets it and the lightsaber on the end table, turning his attention to the rest of his preparations.

A quick check of the chrono; just enough time to get ready. Discarding the towel wrapped around his waist, he dons a tunic and trousers, then the armor. He fastens the respirator, then turns back to the closet. After rummaging around in the back, he emerges with a prominent scowl on his face and a length of rich black cloth in his hands. 

He detests capes. They get underfoot. They’re less than useless in combat. They’ve long been the province of Sith who believe in style over substance, and he has no time for that sort of nonsense.

Usually.

But if he shows up looking anything less than her sartorial equal for their outing to the symphony, he’ll never live it down, so he’ll wear the damned thing. He settles it over his shoulders, hooks the silver chain across his throat. Inspecting his reflection in the mirror, he smooths an errant lock of hair off his forehead, attaches the lightsaber to his belt, and nods with satisfaction before striding out of the room.

[2]  
Kryn runs her fingertips across the bag hanging on the hook next to her closet, and it occurs to her that she’s getting ready to go on a date. An actual date with a man that she has grown increasingly fond of over the last few months. The evening is starting to feel a little more momentous as she unzips the bag and extracts the dress, then slips it over her head.

Celinin Maifar, Kryn's favored designer, has really outdone herself this time: the dress is a vision in gold, hugging Kryn’s curves. Her right shoulder is bare, and a gilded river cascades over her left shoulder and down her left leg. It’s accented by large swooping scrollwork embroidered onto transparent cloth, baring the entirety of her other leg. Celinin has even included a matching eye covering, golden cloth layered over white shimmersilk, embroidered along the top hem with a smaller version of the scrollwork found on the dress.

She perches on the edge of the bed to fasten her heels, smooths the fabric as she stands. A pirouette in front of the mirror makes the cloth flare outward, and Kryn smiles as she adds jeweled hairpins to each of the large curls in her hair. 

Her door slides open and Ashara enters. The Togruta closes the door behind her before she speaks. “My lord, Darth Aphotic is here.” She can’t help but smile. “He looks quite nice.”

“Oh?” Kryn checks her lipstick one more time. “I did tell him he’d better put in some effort.” She tiptoes over and peers out into the main room. Marr is standing with his arms folded, waiting by the floor to ceiling windows. Light glints off the silver accents on his chestplate, greaves, and boots. 

“Oh, _stars_ ,” she breathes, fanning herself. “He looks fantastic.” She retreats back into her room and gives herself a final once-over, scrutinizing her appearance. “You’re just going to dinner,” she mutters at her reflection. “Pull yourself together.” Her shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath, then lifts her chin and strolls out into the main room.

Marr turns when he hears her footsteps. “I thought we ….” His voice trails off as he stares at her, shining and radiant, and he shakes his head and tries again. “That we, ah ….”

Andronikos, having settled in to “read” where he could watch all this, coughs to disguise his chuckle. Kryn smothers a pleased smile and closes the space between them, eyeing him curiously. “You sound different.”

He taps a finger on the front of the respirator. “I adjusted the modulator settings, just as an added precaution.” He holds out his arms for inspection. “Am I sufficiently attired to accompany you this evening?”

She deliberates, looking him up and down, running a fingertip along his chestpiece. “I suppose you’ll do. You had this just lying around? Even the hated cape?” She grins. “How fortuitous, because it really suits you. I bet if you wore it to the Citadel and did that purposeful walk you’re so fond of, you’d absolutely terrorize acolytes.” A mischievous look crosses her face as she combs through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I thought you were cutting these off today.”

“I ran out of time. Finding the armor took longer than I’d anticipated.” He pauses, waiting for her to call him out on this blatant lie; she knows how organized he is. When she doesn’t mention it, he tamps down his surprise and decides to be a little more truthful. “And as I recall, you quite like them.”

She wraps one curl around her little finger, skin brushing skin. “I do.”

“It can wait until tomorrow, then.” He checks the time. “Shall we?”

[3]  
They’re cruising toward the center of the city in near silence, and Marr doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this fumbling and tongue-tied. The mere fact that this is a date has played havoc with both of them; Kryn’s as silent as he is, a first since he’s known her.

“Your tailor did a fine job with your dress,” he finally says, cringing at how stilted he sounds.

“Oh! Thank you. And, um, I was wrong to doubt you. You clean up very nicely.” She presses a hand to her mouth in horror. “What is _wrong_ with me? And you! Why are we falling all over ourselves?”

“Since we decided it was a date, it seems like -” He stops. “Well, it’s more or less our first actual date, and -” He falls silent again and shrugs.

Kryn ponders for a long moment. “I think we’re overthinking this. Honestly, blithering Pub idiots can manage dates with no problem. There is no way two Sith are going to have this much trouble.” She leans back in her seat and arranges her thoughts. “Let’s just start over. You know, you look positively mouthwatering.” She almost stops there, but she just can’t help herself, and her tone turns teasing. “Especially in that cape.”

He inclines his head. “Thank you. I’m not particularly given to effusiveness,” he replies, taking her bare hand in his free gloved one, “but I’ve hardly been able to look away from you. You’re exquisite.”

Kryn feels heat in her cheeks and is silently grateful that it’s too dark for him to see it. “Then the dress had its intended effect,” she says as they pull up next to the valet at the restaurant. The young man pulls away in the speeder, and they turn toward the building.

“Celestia, hmm?” he says, one hand light on the small of her back. “I can see you’re really determined to spend your winnings in one night.”

She grins. “I told you I wanted to do something outrageous and fancy, and Celestia's as posh as they come. Besides, after everything we’ve accomplished in the last year and a half, I think we deserve some extravagance, don’t you?”

He gestures at the door; it slides open. “I do. After you.”

They’re shown through the quietly bustling restaurant to a secluded table on the second floor, nestled by where the floor to ceiling windows meet, offering incredible views of the city on both sides. Kryn gazes out the window for a long moment after the waitress brings their drinks and appetizers. 

“Do you think we can do it? Change things, I mean,” she says, pensive. Unspoken thoughts are plain on her face as she mulls over what she wants to say, contemplating her drink. The lack of confidence sits poorly on her, and Marr wonders how many people she’s allowed to see her like this. “The Empire doesn’t lend herself so easily to course correction.”

He considers. “As I wasn’t gifted with Force visions, I can’t tell you for sure. But I’m uncertain if even the Empire can withstand your particular determination and will.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “That’s a battle I’m looking forward to witnessing. Force knows I wasn’t up to the task.”

“You were done when you admitted you’d underestimated me, back on Makeb.” She grins at him. “Never should have done that. Inquisitors can smell blood in the water.”

His pride is piqued and he mock-glares at her, mouth engaging before he can stop himself. “You won’t even give me until Rishi, where I spent three miserable hours sitting in the loudest cantina in the galaxy, drinking overpriced substandard ale, knowing you’d show up eventually?” He holds up a hand. “And then after you showed up, I sat there trying to decide if I ought to talk to you or keep it strictly professional.”

One eyebrow arches toward her hairline. “You’d been in there for three hours when I came to talk to you?” She doesn't say anything else, but her lips thin as she tries to stifle a smile.

He sighs, his stomach sinking as he realizes she's likely never going to let him live this down. “Yes. Don’t ask me why, I still wouldn’t be able to tell you. It certainly wasn't out of a burning desire to drunkenly ride tonitrans.”

Kryn muffles a peal of laughter. “I’d hope not, or you sure walked away disappointed.”

“Disappointed is the last word I’d use to describe that evening.” He folds his hands together, resting them on the table. “And now, you owe me a confession.”

“I do?” She gives him a skeptical look.

“I just handed you ammunition on a platter, Kryn. In the interest of partnership, it’s only fair you do the same.”

“I see.” She ponders, drumming her fingers on her knee. “I … all right. Remember when you stopped by my house that first time to tell me about the military ball? And I teased you about being your date?” She bites the inside of her cheek. “If you’d actually asked me, I wouldn’t have said no.”

Marr’s eyes widen but he stays silent, waiting for her to continue.

“You can't deny we would have made quite the striking pair, not to mention your conversations that night would have been much more sparkling." A brief pause. "And come on, you can’t possibly be surprised that I was a little smitten with you even then."

"If you were a little smitten then," he asks, tone a study in nonchalance, "what about now?"

"Ah-ah." She holds up a finger. "That would be a second confession, and one that you would have to match with an equally significant admission. Are you prepared for such a thing?"

He laughs outright. "Not before dessert."

[4]  
They miss the VIP performance lingering over dessert and drinks at the restaurant, and slip into Kryn’s box just before the house lights dim for the main concert. She folds herself onto the plush couch as Marr sweeps his cape to his far side and settles next to her. He looks around, one eyebrow cocked. “I’m surprised Thanaton was so casual in his decoration.”

Kryn chuckles. “Oh, he wasn’t. I had it changed.” She shakes her head as the room grows darker. “I’d rather have one comfortable couch than six uncomfortable chairs.”

He pulls off his gloves, then unfastens the respirator, setting them on the arm of the couch with a sigh of relief. Kryn looks from the respirator to his face, opting for telepathy now that the amphitheater is nearly silent. _Is that worse than the full mask? I would have thought it better._

 _I’m just not used to them anymore. They get itchy around the edges._ A pause, and a flash of humor. _And I’m tired of sounding like I’m sixteen._

Kryn suppresses a laugh, hand over her mouth. _I would imagine._ She slides toward him until their legs touch, vaguely annoyed when flutters stir in her stomach. It’s a foolish reaction; they touch on a near-daily basis and in far more intimate ways, but something about this evening has thrown her completely off-kilter and now she’s acting like an idiot schoolgirl.

He stirs next to her. _Is everything all right?_

Of course he noticed. _Yes._ She laces her fingers with his. _But this is better._ The first strains of music sing through the air as she reaches through the Force, her attention on him while his is on the symphony.

Blissful enjoyment of the music, pure and shining. Surety of purpose, a clarity few achieve. Rough hands callused from decades of lightsaber use, gentle with her. The weight of his mask in her hand, the burden of trust willingly shared, an oath upheld. Contentment, unexpected and cherished, a secret he holds as close as his true self.

He leans toward her, mouth brushing her earlobe, though he doesn’t speak aloud. _Kryn._ He catches it between his teeth, just for a moment. _You’re distracted._

She muffles a gasp. _Well, now I am!_ There’s a heady allure in being so overt with their affections in public, even if he is somewhat disguised, and it’s making her prone to more demonstrative displays. A hand along his jaw, just enough pressure that he turns his head, and she presses her lips to his. After a deep breath, she focuses forward, not seeing how he stays fixed on her.

Delicate fingers, soft curves, impudent smile - all camouflage a fearless spirit and incredible power. She hurls herself at the world, never doubting that it will flinch first. She is a tempest, pale blooms and ozone, light and dark, and he stands in the eye of the storm, his name in her mouth, her mind, her heart. She’s still restive, but less so when his skin finds hers, and that is enough.

As the music goes on, she pulls her legs up onto the couch and leans more fully against him, but far too soon she has to sit up so he can put his respirator and gloves back on. “This has been quite the enjoyable evening,” she says, watching him. “I’m glad we decided to do this.”

“As am I.” He stands and extends a hand to help her up.

She smirks at him. “And I didn’t even make you wait three hours this time.”

He glares at her, but doesn't respond until they're outside, waiting for their speeder to be brought around. “See? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist mentioning that, which is why I made you tell me something.” He falls silent again until after he’s maneuvered out into traffic. “Would you say you’re more smitten now than you were the night of the ball?” 

Giving him an arch look, she takes his free hand. “If I’m not more smitten by now, then you are shockingly incompetent at wooing a woman, aren’t you?”

Pleased, he nods. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

[5]  
Kryn makes him readjust the respirator when they arrive back at her house, having grown tired of him not sounding like himself. They’ve been talking on the balcony for a half hour when she finally shivers. “I never notice the rain until I’m too wet to do anything about it.”

He unhooks his cape and drapes it over her shoulders. Quite a lot of it pools around her feet, and he chuckles. “I did suggest that we go inside.”

“I know.” She turns her face up to the droplets, hugging the cape around herself. “But I love the rain, even if this dress isn’t made for standing around outside, and I love how the city looks at night.”

His curiosity is piqued. “Tell me about it.”

“People complain about the rain, but the air is fresh and clean. From this lofty height, you can see the beauty, how all those oversized pieces come together. It’s clean lines and stark colors, uncluttered from way up here, even though nothing is as simple as it seems when you get on the ground.” 

Ambient light limns her profile, and he can’t take his eyes from her. “Six years ago, this would have all been a fever dream. Freedom. Power.” She stops, looks over at Marr, her expression softening. “You.” She gives him a sly look. “Though to be fair, two years ago I thought you were a humorless grouch, so you’re really more of a surprise than anything else at this point.”

“Two years ago,” he says, folding his arms and trying to look serious, “ _you_ were a derisive, impertinent upstart. I had every reason to be unamused with you.”

When he doesn’t continue, she bumps him with her hip. “And now? We’re supposed to be sharing how we’ve changed.”

“Oh, you’re still a derisive, impertinent upstart.” He laughs. “But one that I -” His mouth closes on the next word before he can finish. It wasn’t this hard last time, he notes bemusedly, though last time was more years ago than he’d care to admit. She’s looking up at him, waiting; there’s something about her expression, the way the light is striking her, the way she’s standing there wrapped in that damned cape of his, and suddenly the words are no longer content to remain unspoken.

“But,” he repeats, quieter now as he reaches out to tuck a curl behind her ear, wanting to memorize how she looks at this moment, “one that I -” 

He looks down when his comlink beeps, growling in frustration as he yanks it out of his pocket. He jabs at the button, tone coldly professional. “Speak.”

“My lord, we’ve run into unexpected complications on Bonadan, and Moff Ryden humbly requests an audience to retool our strategy.”

His hand tightens on the comlink. He can’t shirk his duty, not even for Kryn. Not even for this. His response is swift, each word clipped. “Instruct the moff to await my call.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Marr shoves the comlink back into his pocket. “This wasn’t how I saw this evening ending. Regrettably, we’ll have to finish this another time.” He chuckles. “I told you I didn’t have Force sight.” 

Respirator swiftly removed, he combs his fingers into her damp hair as he bends to kiss her; she leans into it, cupping his face with her hands. Pulling back, she opens her mouth, ready to ask him to stay, or say she’ll come over, but they agreed months ago that the Empire comes first. “Go on then,” she says, giving him a gentle shove, voice light. “It’s about time that it’s your turn to save the day. I’m getting tired of doing all the work here.”

He’s halfway back to his house before he realizes she kept the cape.


	20. Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn and Lysch meet up with Rafana on Ziost. Kryn suspects that things are going to get worse before they get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see my calendar post [here](http://inquisitorhotpants.tumblr.com/post/139462617771/continuing-in-my-vein-of-extreme-worldbuilding) for an explanation of my timekeeping.

[1]  
_6 Syn, 1341_  
_Orbital Defense Command Center, Ziost_

The frigid Ziost air cuts right to the bone, and carries the sounds of combat to the two women making their way through the Orbital Defense Command Center complex. Residual lightning is still flickering in impromptu swirling clouds as Lysch pulls her lightsaber out of another dead Imperial soldier. 

“I don't know what Vitiate is playing at, but this is an utter waste. He must be stopped.”

Kryn is shivering as she steps over the body laying at her feet, coming to a stop next to her sister. She cups her hands around her mouth and blows into them, then scowls. “I’ll tell you what needs to stop: this damned wind, because I can barely feel my fingers. I’m stopping here for a moment. We’ve been fighting since we touched down, and I still haven’t had a chance to report in. The armory’s computer is still working, I’m sure.”

Lysch scans the area. “I’ll keep watch, but make it quick. We’re almost to the administration center. Rafana said she’d wait for us there.”

Kryn activates the holocom and punches in Marr’s frequency, then brings up her mail, fingers quick on the keys. 

Multiple officials are crowded around his conference table when Marr answers, his tone curt. “You should have landed hours ago. I’ve been waiting for your report.” 

“I did, but I couldn’t exactly ask attacking forces to hold on a moment so I could call you, now could I?” She doesn’t look up from what she’s writing. “As Minister Beniko’s message said, Vitiate is possessing people, using them to slaughter others, though we still don’t know what his endgame could be. Evacuation protocols have been initiated. The Wrath and I are on our way to meet two Intelligence agents who believe they have a plan to at least slow Vitiate down.”

He shakes his head, displeased. “It isn’t enough to slow him, Nox. He must be _stopped_.”

Finished typing, she looks up at him. “I’m well aware of this, Marr. I have, in fact, been told that exact sentence already today. But we have to start somewhere.” She folds her arms. “We can’t linger here any longer. We'll speak again when I’m able.” Kryn touches the button on the holocom, deactivating it, then touches a button on the console, sending her message.

 _M,_  
_This is a mess. Never thought I’d be sitting on Ziost cutting down Imperials. As far as that “Kryn saved the Empire again” celebration goes, I’m going to need to upgrade my celebratory drink to something a lot larger and a lot stronger. And have more than one of them. We can probably skip the banner; this doesn’t feel like the kind of mission that should have a banner._

_To be honest … I am uneasy. It’s as though there’s a shadow lurking at the edge of my vision, but when I turn to look at it, it disappears. Something is very wrong here, something beyond this possession nonsense._

_I’ll be in touch._  
_K_

The administration building looms over a nearby plaza. Lysch strides past Kryn to leap into a group of soldiers, her lightsabers crimson whirls as she fells them. “I’m not going to spend twice as long getting to where we need to go, sister. Keep up.”

“And every one that you kill makes Vitiate stronger. You would do well to consider that.” Kryn makes her way up a set of stairs. “It might not be in our best interest to help the madman. I know you can feel the wrongness in the Force.”

Lysch nods. “Yes. Since we set foot here, I -” She stops, narrows her eyes, and points across the plaza at a tall robed figure, bearing the same maddened look as the rest of the possessed. “Is that a Jedi?”

A soldier rushes the person in robes, and a blue lightsaber hisses to life. Kryn’s eyebrow arches upward. “It is. Why are Jedi on Ziost?” She sighs when Lysch takes off at a full run, propelling herself toward the Jedi with a roar. By the time Kryn gets there he’s dead, and she shakes her head. “Well, so much for questioning him, Wrath. I understand that’s not usually your mode of operation, but do try to work with me here.”

Someone behind them speaks. “Darth Nox. I believe we can answer your query.”

Kryn pivots sharply, mouth falling open when she sees Semiri and Scourge. “You’re supposed to be on Yavin Four!” She eyes Scourge. “Are you well enough to fight? What in blazes are you two doing on Ziost?”

“Vitiate,” Semiri all but snarls. “Theron Shan contacted us.”

“Theron Shan is also why Jedi are here,” Scourge adds. “He thought to solve the problems on this world himself.”

“With Jedi?” Lysch sneers. "Please.”

Semiri glares at her, even as Scourge can't quite stop a nod of agreement. “These are hardliners, black ops. No, they shouldn’t have been here, but don’t act like you are the only ones with fighting prowess.”

Lysch’s eyes narrow. “No one said that, and -”

“And we don’t have time for this, so both of you knock it off!” Kryn snaps, authority in her voice. “We need to get in here and talk to Rafana. You may as well come with us, I don’t want you running around Ziost alone.”

“But Vitiate -” Semiri shakes her head. “No. I’m going to keep looking.”

“Jedi, we don’t know where he is.” Scourge grips her shoulders, gives her a long look. “Focus. Stop acting like an acolyte and focus. There’s a reason we were training you to work through anger. This is it. Put that training to use now.”

“I … yes. You’re right.” She takes a deep breath. “Does Ziost always feel like this? It’s … malevolence. Everywhere, like a fog.”

Kryn shakes her head. “No. This isn’t normal.” She points at the nearby doorway. “Come on, Rafana’s waiting.”

Inside the administration building, Rafana is talking to a slight man as they scrutinize a layout of the complex, her deep violet tattoos a shocking contrast against her chalk-white skin. “We need to bring down the anti-air guns here and -” She looks over as the four people pile into the room. “Good, you’re here. I’m not going to ask why Semiri’s here; right now I don’t care. We need all the help we can get.” 

Everyone assembles around her as she indicates points on the layout. “As I was just telling Agent Kovach, we’ll be bringing down the anti-air guns from in here. You need get out there and start setting up the evacuation stations - set up the droids, kill off the attackers, start funnelling people the right direction. We don’t know how long this is going to go on, and every person that remains here is a potential enemy.”

“And after that?” Semiri asks, stepping forward.

Rafana looks at Semiri. “After that, we’re going into New Adasta. We have to evacuate as many logistics officials as possible, as well as continue our plan to stop Vitiate. Darth Nox, are there backups of the Ministry of Logistics’ information in the Sanctum?”

“Of course.”

Rafana nods. “I’d imagined there were, given how often you people have turnovers in leadership. Can’t have everything in once place lest a Councilor decide to wipe out everything to take out someone else.”

Lysch scowls. “Is now really the time to be getting snotty about Sith, Rafana? We’re all quite aware of your feelings about them.”

She sighs. “No. You’re right. I apologize. Having backups makes it easier, but we still need to get into New Adasta. You have your missions; get them done and then report back here. We can hole up in here for the night, and we’ll take a small shuttle to the city tomorrow.”

[2]  
_6 Syn, 1341_  
_Somewhere near Voss_

The _Astral Chaos_ has just pulled away from the Voss orbital station when the holocom starts beeping. Raitlia is the first to hear it, pushing herself off her chair with a sigh. When she touches the button, Supreme Chancellor Saresh flickers to life. “Major Sartoris.”

Raitlia is not at all pleased, but keeps her face and voice carefully neutral. “Good afternoon, Supreme Chancellor. What can I do for you?”

Saresh folds her arms. “Please assemble your squad. This concerns all of them.”

“Roger that. One moment.” Raitlia crosses the room in three quick strides and hits the intercom. “Havoc Squad to the holocom, on the double!” The sound of boots thumping on metal fills the air, and everyone piles into the main room. 

Saresh looks around. “Good, you’re all here. We have discovered that the Empire is vulnerable: their Emperor, as you recall, has run mad, and is apparently attacking his own people. We’re launching an offensive on Ziost.” She looks very pleased with herself when she continues. “It’s about time we strike a decisive blow against them. The armada is en route, close to your location. You will join them.”

Behind Raitlia, Elara can’t bite back a small gasp. “Ziost?”

The chancellor takes no notice of this. “I want Havoc Squad on the front lines, doing what you do best. Head there immediately. Saresh out.”

The hologram disappears, and Raitlia turns to the rest of her squad, looking thoughtful. “Well. Opinions?”

Aric shakes his head, scowling. “Sir … this just doesn’t pass the smell test. If the Emperor is attacking his own people, what’s to stop him from attacking ours? I’m not too keen on running headfirst into a suicide mission.”

Raitlia nods. “That’s a good point. Anyone else?”

Elara bites her lip. “Sir, Ziost is home to the Ministry of Logistics. I understand stopping Vitiate, I understand stopping slavery, but the people, they -” She stops. “This isn’t right, sir. If Vitiate is attacking his own people, they’re going to be trying to evacuate.” Her jaw tightens. “I would prefer to assist with that, rather than whatever it is Saresh is trying to get us into.” 

Forex, to Raitlia’s great surprise, agrees. “Sir, if we can assist with evacuations, I think it’s our duty to do so. Between all of us, we can be an effective force planetside.”

Raitlia looks around at the assembled crew. “Does anyone disagree with this plan?” Everyone shakes their heads. “Good. We’ll figure out who’s doing what when we get there. Aric, get with Elara and let’s get a map sketched out so we're prepared. Tanno, Yuun, and Forex, I want you three on defense while we get people evacuated.” Pausing, she taps her chin. “I’ll be in the cockpit making calls if anyone needs me. We’re going to need more than just our ship.”

[3]  
_8 Syn, 1341_  
_New Adasta, Ziost_

It’s been slow going through New Adasta. Rafana and Kovach have gone on ahead, stealthed, slipping through enemy lines while Kryn, Lysch, Semiri, and Scourge work their way through the city assisting the populace. The three swordsmen range in front of Kryn, taking out their frustrations on the the enemies littering their path while Kryn directs huddled groups of people toward cleared safehouses to await evacuation.

They finally make it to the electrical substation and find Rafana, arms folded across her chest, her dark eyes narrow slits as she regards Kovach. 

“Is something amiss?” Kryn asks, looking from one to the other. 

Rafana doesn’t take her eyes from Kovach’s face. “No, of course not.” Her voice contains more than a hint of threat. “Is there, agent?”

"No, Commander.” He shakes his head, dropping his eyes. 

Lysch’s words are clipped. “It’s clear that something is. I hope that whatever it is, you’re not endangering the rest of us or this mission by not telling us, Ghost.”

Rafana turns her glare on Lysch. “Intelligence business, Wrath. Don’t concern yourself. It will all be handled in time.” She’s colder than the bracing air when she looks back at Kovach. “Won’t it, _agent_?”

Kovach swallows hard. “Yes, Commander.”

The Rattataki directs her attention to the assembled group. “As you’re aware, electric shocks dispel Vitiate’s control, at least for a short time. Agent Kovach here believes we can do that on a wide scale and wrest the people back from Vitiate, weakening him. We need to power down the dampeners, then get to the other substation. We’ll be able to get through this part of the city faster with all of us, and you can guard the entrance while we take care of the technical work inside. Let’s move out. We don’t have any time to waste.”

\--

Five paces left, an about face, five paces right. Semiri can’t seem to stand still as they remain on alert outside the second substation. “I hate this waiting!” She pulls her lightsaber, runs through a quick training velocity. “We should be out looking for Vitiate.”

Lysch and Kryn exchange a glance. “You’re awfully aggressive for a Jedi,” Kryn drawls. “Are they all right with that?”

“I’m not concerned with what they’re all right with. It’s this planet, it’s Vitiate, it’s everything. I just want to be done with this and get away from whatever it is making me feel like this,” Semiri snaps. “If you two can’t lay off, just don’t talk to me.”

Inside the building there’s a single blaster shot, and then Rafana appears in the doorway. “Agent Kovach is dead. He was a traitor, working for the Republic. Imperial Intelligence is aware of the matter.” She pauses. “A Republic armada is on its way. Saresh has decided to take this opportunity to strike at the heart of the Empire.”

“Of course she is.” Lysch snorts. “That woman wouldn’t understand strategic sense if it ran her over.”

“People are being possessed! She’s intentionally endangering her troops!” Kryn throws up her hands. “Why risk it? Why send people to the slaughter for no gain?”

“Because she cares more about hurting the Empire than about her own people,” Semiri says. “That will always -” A shout draws her attention. “We have company!”

A squad of possessed soldiers storms the courtyard. Three lightsabers blaze to life as Rafana drops into cover. Kryn dives behind a crate and yanks out her holocom, punching in a frequency. 

Aboard the _Astral Chaos_ , Elara checks the frequency of the incoming holocall. “Sir, we’re receiving a call; it’s restricted,” she calls toward the cockpit.

Raitlia hurtles down the short flight of stairs. “Bring it up.”

Kryn appears, hunkered down. “Raitlia! If you’re part of your chancellor’s indescribably idiotic invasion plan, don’t - Rafana! Scourge is hit! How many of these guys _are_ there? Where do they keep coming from?”

“Kryn?” Raitlia can’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “What the blazes is going on?”

“Don’t come to Ziost! Vitiate is possessing Imperials, Jedi, civilians, soldiers, everyone! Your chancellor is crazy, she’s going to get even more people killed! Semiri is already here, and we’re going to put a stop to all this. Just stay away! Tell everyone else!” Kryn disconnects, leaving Raitlia staring open-mouthed at the holocom in the sudden silence.

Elara shifts her weight to her other foot. “Sir, your orders?”

“Continue to Ziost. If it’s that bad, they’re definitely going to need our help.”

[4]  
_8 Syn, 1341_  
_Sith Sanctum, Kaas City_

Marr’s voice is cold fury, louder than normal to be heard over the din in his office, which has become an impromptu command center for the Ziost operation. “No one has heard anything? Not from Beniko, the Ghost, Nox, _anyone_?”

Bryasere shakes her head. “No, my lord.” She hasn’t flinched in the face of his anger for years, but has to resist the urge to take a step backward when his hand tightens on the datapad he’s holding.

“Not acceptable. I don’t care who you send, I don’t care what they have to do. Get over to Intelligence and get this sorted out, or make it clear that I will do the sorting myself.”

“Yes, my lord!” She turns and nearly runs out of the office.

Marr’s holocom beeps; he shouts for quiet, then jabs at the button. “Darth Marr.”

Nox’s hologram flickers, crouched down. “Reporting in - more incoming, Wrath!” She fires lightning at unseen assailants.

A flash of relief, swiftly set aside for the more urgent matter at hand. “Nox, what is going _on_?”

“First things first, Theron Shan sent some Jedi offshoot out here to deal with Vitiate. This may -”

“Jedi?” He can’t keep the shock out of his voice as the room erupts in low murmurs at this revelation. “On Ziost?”

“Yes. Shan thought he could handle it himself with some offshoot of the Order, some duty-obsessed black ops group. Unsurprisingly, they got possessed.” She makes a face. “They’re possessed, soldiers are possessed, Sith are possessed. It’s utter chaos.” She takes a breath. “That isn’t all. Vitiate is feeding off all this, and now the fucking Republic is coming.”

“Saresh.” The name is a growl in his mouth, a statement rather than a question.

“None other.” 

Marr has brought up a map of military units around Ziost, examining it as they talk. “How did you discover this?”

Her lip curls in a snarl. “The agent working with the Ghost was a traitor.”

“I assume he’s been dealt with?”

A smile finally creeps across Kryn’s face. “Rafana made him confess to Lana, and then executed him.”

He’s quiet for a moment, considering, before he shakes his head. “I can’t send anyone else. Not if it helps Vitiate.”

“Well, of course you can’t, but Se-” She stops, aware he isn’t alone. “The Jedi we worked with on Yavin is here with Scourge; apparently that’s who Theron contacted. We have joined forces, and the five of us are a formidable group. Vitiate is likely hiding from us, the coward.” She can hear how forced her bravado is, and drops it. “Things are only going to get worse with the Republic in play, however. We’re moving into the heart of New Adasta. I may not be able to contact you again for some time, depending on the situation there.”

Marr drums his fingers on his desk, resisting the urge to deem that unacceptable as well. “What of the feeling you’d said you were getting? The wrongness?”

Her voice is quiet when she answers. “We can all feel it. Well, all of us but Rafana, obviously. But none of us know what it is. All we know is that it’s getting worse.”

There is much that he wants to say, but can’t. “Nox, we can’t have anything less than a complete victory. We can’t risk this happening again. I will await your next transmission.”

“Understood.” She disconnects, then pokes her head over the top of the crate. “It got quiet. How’s Scourge?”

Rafana looks up. “He’ll be fine, but we need to find a place to stop for the night. We shouldn’t linger here.”

\--

They end up barricading themselves in an abandoned cantina for the night. Kryn’s message notification chimes while they’re playing pazaak and pretending the world isn’t going to hell around them.

 _K,_  
_I won’t insult you or your abilities by telling you to stay safe, and we both know you wouldn’t listen to me even if I did. Mission accomplishment is paramount, as is you coming back to gloat about how I could only keep the Empire saved for, what was it, nine days? I will be staying at the Citadel for the duration of this mission; contact me as soon as you’re able._  
_M_


	21. Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ziost is collapsing under the weight of Vitiate's possession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have used some dialogue from the Rise of the Emperor questline near the end of the story, picking pieces here and there from the different storylines.

[1]  
_9 Syn, 1341_  
_Abandoned Cantina_  
_New Adasta, Ziost_

Kryn sleeps fitfully, dozing in stops and starts, jolting fully awake when she hears voices outside their impromptu campsite.

Republic voices. 

Saresh must have had this in the works for longer than any of them could have foreseen for them to be here so quickly. Kryn slips over to Rafana, still awake and working on something at the bar, datapads spread along the long flat surface. 

Rafana looks over, nods in greeting. “Listen. Hear how much more blaster fire there is? It started almost as soon as Republic boots hit the ground.”

“How many are the war, and how many are Vitiate?” Semiri, her normally immaculate hair a tangle around her face, drops onto a barstool and takes an irritated swipe at her unruly mane.

“It doesn’t matter,” Scourge, right behind her, says as he pulls Semiri's hair back and re-braids it with quick, smooth movements, ignoring Rafana’s arched eyebrow and Kryn’s amused smirk. “They’ll be fighting us and each other either way.”

Lysch, scowling harder than usual as she joins them, slams her palms down on the bartop. “Then they will fall as well,” she snaps. “We don’t have a way to get through them without killing them. We will simply have to deal with these problems as they come.”

Rafana’s holocom beeps, and they gather around it when Rafana touches the button. Lana appears, looking harried. “Ghost, we have another plan. I have another contact in the city and we’re working on a solution, building off of Kovach’s original idea.”

“Theron,” Semiri murmurs. “I bet it’s Theron.”

Lana nods. “One or some or any of you needs to meet us in the People’s Tower.”

Kryn pulls up a layout of the city, inspecting it. “That’s some hard fighting,” she says, “especially with the Republic now in play. Rafana, might I suggest your talents are better served with evacuations? Semiri and I can meet Lana.” She glances at Lysch. “You too, sister. You have a personal stake in this, as well.”

Lysch shakes her head. “I want nothing to do with him. I trust you and Semiri can adequately deal with this situation. I'll assist with evacuations.”

Kryn looks at Lana. “A non-possessed Jedi and I will meet you and your contact, Lana. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Very well. Just … hurry, Nox. Things are only going to get worse.”

As Lana’s hologram disappears, Lysch’s holocom beeps. Quinn appears, bowing. “My lord, we should arrive on Ziost within thirty-six hours,” he says, unctuous as always. “What would you have of us?”

“Find a place as close to the city center as you can to set down, I don't care if you have to crush speeders to do it. We’re beginning evacuations. When you land, send me your coordinates and I will meet you. We’re running out of time.” She disconnects and looks at the group. “Kryn, I’ll get in touch with your crew and have them do the same. Have we heard from anyone else?”

Kryn shakes her head. “I told Raitlia to stay away, but you know she won’t listen. Should we call Liinz? At least she can help evac.”

Rafana nods. “Call her. We’re going to need all the help we can get, if your feelings are any indication.”

The room falls silent as everyone considers what that means. Kryn nods slowly. “I’ll call her before we leave.”

“I’ll pack up our things,” Semiri murmurs. “You make the calls you need to make. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

The deserted cantina falls silent as they go about their tasks. Kryn steps into the back room and pulls out her holocom. After a quick call to Liinz - “I can be there within three days at most,” she says, startled by the seriousness in Kryn’s voice - she punches in a familiar frequency.

“Darth Marr’s office.”

“Bryasere?” Kryn is a bit nonplussed. “Is … is Darth Marr there?”

“Oh! He’d finally conceded he needed an hour’s sleep, but left orders to wake him if you called.”

“No, wait! If he’s actually sleeping leave him. It’s nothing urgent, just a status update.” Kryn rattles off the plan while Bryasere jots notes. “Tell him I should be able to call again from the People’s Tower. I’m just not sure how long it’s going to take to get there.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Kryn disconnects, then joins the others near the door of the cantina. “Stay in contact. If you need help, call. Keep everyone apprised of your situation.” A pause. “Stay safe.”

Semiri, Scourge, and Kryn are four blocks away from the cantina when her message notification chimes. Kryn opens the message, her footsteps slowing and eventually stopping as she reads.

 _K,_  
_I won’t ask why you decided to tell my Second to countermand my orders, though I do wonder why she chose to obey you over me. Had it occurred to you that I might have information to pass on to you?_

_Ensure you contact me at the People’s Tower at your earliest convenience, once you know the details of Beniko’s plan. I have reminded my personnel who they serve and instructed that you are to speak to me when you call, without exception._  
_M_

Semiri peers over Kryn’s shoulder and skims the note. “Are you sure you two are …? Because that’s the most businesslike love letter I’ve ever seen, if so. The only thing that even makes it slightly personal is his use of your actual initial. Doesn’t even sound like he’s worried about you.”

“Why should it?” Scourge looms over the two women. “It’s about the mission, not personal feelings.” He scans the message as well. “I don’t know that Semiri’s assessment that he isn’t worried is correct, however.”

Kryn scowls. “He’s just inexplicably irritated I let him sleep, apparently.” She shoves the device back into her pocket. “Fine. He can get his armor in a twist over it. I’ll call at the People’s Tower, just like he’s ordering.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Scourge raise an eyebrow and Semiri shrug. “Stop it, both of you. We’re not going to defeat Vitiate standing around here. Let’s go.”

[2]  
_10 Syn, 1341_  
_Outlying Republic Camp_  
_New Adasta, Ziost_

Sergeant Reithman sits on impromptu guard duty, shivering in the cold night air. It’s not really guard duty. He just can’t sleep. _Won’t_ sleep. His blaster sits in his lap. It can’t sit in its holster, that would be too far away for him to reach it in time.

Republic forces have been in New Adasta for just over a day, and he is beginning to doubt any of them will leave this planet.

The higher ups didn’t deign to tell anyone about the conditions on Ziost before they landed. No one saw fit to mention that people were being possessed by forces unknown. Whole units have lost their minds, attacking Imperials, civilians, each other. Comms have been down for hours.

Reithman’s own camp is littered with corpses, though most of the remaining troopers have left, drawn by some siren call only they can hear. This morning two of the remaining corporals, inseparable since basic training, had gotten into a fight over rations. Only one walked away. A pair of MPs tried to detain him; he killed one, fighting like a rabid nexu before a blaster shot to the head dropped him, killed by a PFC out on his first operation. 

Two hours ago that PFC, Stannis, stood up in the command center and fired wildly at everyone in the room. He murdered four troopers before he put the blaster to his own temple.

There’s a sudden explosion of noise in the darkness past the guard post: blaster shots, the hiss of twin lightsabers, blue and purple. Two more, red and violet-black. Dying screams. Reithman clutches his pistol, ashamed of how badly he wants to run away, of how his hands are shaking.

For the first time, he wishes he was possessed, too. Maybe then he wouldn’t care that he won’t see another sunrise.

A red-skinned Sith and a slight Miraluka step into the meager light near Reithman, and the sergeant raises his blaster with a jerk, waving it back and forth. "Get away! I haven't done anything to you!" 

"We’re not here to hurt you," Kryn says, extending a hand as she peers past Reithman. "What happened to your camp?"

One shot flies high and wide, whizzing past Scourge. Reithman keeps the pistol raised, conscious of how it's shaking. "Leave me be!"

"Jedi, please come talk to this man," Scourge sighs. "He's not going to listen to us."

Semiri steps out of the shadows and smiles gently at Reithman. "Sergeant, we're here to help." She pauses for a moment. "I remember you. You were on Yavin Four with the coalition forces, yes?"

He nods mutely.

She indicates the ruin of the camp. "What happened?"

The sergeant stares at Semiri for a long moment before lowering his blaster. "Whole camp went crazy, Master Jedi. Running off. Killing each other. No one told us we'd get possessed down here."

"Come with us," she says. "You'll be safer in a group."

"No. I'm not going out there. I've been listening to _out there_ all night. I'm staying right where I am." His expression turns truculent. "Don't make me fight you."

"But -"

Scourge lays a hand on Semiri's shoulder. "Leave it be, Jedi. He's decided."

"We can't leave him here! He's alone!" She turns to glare at him, fire in her blue eyes. "It's a death sentence!”

"Can you fight him, Semiri?” Kryn’s voice is gentle but firm. “Are you willing to kill him? Because that is what he will make you do."

Semiri opens her mouth. Closes it. Slowly shakes her head, her expression mournful. 

Kryn nods. "Then I suggest we move on."

Semiri turns to Reithman. "Here is my comlink frequency. If you change your mind, you call me, okay?"

He takes it without looking at it, his answer rote. "Yes, Master Jedi."

[3]  
_11 Syn, 1341_  
_Market District_  
_New Adasta, Ziost_

Lysch has spent the last two days stalking through the city, tersely directing people toward evacuation points, and putting down attackers. She rounds a corner and heaves a sigh when she sees Imperial banners gently stirring in the breeze; she’s been moving on a near-constant basis and is about ready to collapse. Even Imperial rations sound like gourmet fare at this point.

As she draws closer to the camp, the hackles on the back of her neck rise.

Something’s wrong.

The gate guard shack is deserted. The entire front courtyard is deserted. She wraps her fingers around her lightsaber hilts as she slips through the camp, reaching out with the Force. The barracks. They’re all in the barracks. Perhaps they’ve holed up there to stay away from the lunacy gripping New Adasta.

When she kicks the door open, she realizes that isn’t the case. 

The furniture has all been shoved to the back of the large room. Soldiers have formed a ring around two people, who are circling each other, knives in hand. They’re not the first two to be thrust into this impromptu arena, Lysch notes, if the corpses shoved to the side are any indication.

The first man, older, with the insignia of a captain cut into his chest, lunges at the younger man, knives sweeping in an arc. Both knives miss. The younger man, a corporal by the look of his own hastily carved rank, sidesteps, then tackles him. The room falls silent, then erupts in cheers when he plunges a knife into the captain’s chest.

“The winner!” one of the spectators, set up on a table as a commentator, shouts. “Corporal Barstan! Can anyone beat this monster’s record? He’s already up to twelve kills! Can anyone take him down? Or is he invincible?” 

“What is going _on_ here?” Lysch snaps, her hand hovering over her lightsabers. “Have you all run mad?”

As one, the soldiers all turn to look at her. A predatory smile appears on the impromptu announcer’s face. “A new contender! Step forward!”

Lysch is unamused and unintimidated. “If any of you so much as lay a hand on me, you’ll draw back a stump,” she growls. “Test me.”

A private who looks barely old enough to serve is the first to get close enough. He latches a hand on her wrist. Lightsabers hiss to life, and he promptly loses the wrist, and then his head. She punts it, nodding with satisfaction as it connects with another approaching assailant’s face. Lysch becomes a dervish, lightsabers flashing, batting away blaster bolts, a storm of death. 

When the last soldier falls, she turns and strides out of the barracks. “You have to do better than that, Vitiate,” she mutters. She touches her comlink. “Quinn, tell me you’ve landed.”

“Yes, my lord. Sending coordinates now. Shall we expect you?”

She looks around the deserted encampment. “Yes. Tell Broonmark and Pierce to set up a defensive perimeter. Orders are to kill anyone who refuses to halt when you tell them.” She considers. “Send Jaesa with them. Possessed pawns will exude the dark side. They must die immediately.” Her eyes widen as something occurs to her. “Put Lieutenant Pierce on.”

A pause, then Pierce, gruff and all business. “My lord?”

“You’re from Ziost. Do you have family in New Adasta? If so, send me their coordinates.”

“No, my lord,” he says, his voice too casual. “My family is elsewhere. Evacs will be easier in smaller settlements.”

“That's nonsense and you know it.”

He’s unmoved. “My lord, we have a mission to accomplish. I'll worry about personal matters later. Jaesa’s waiting; we’ll see you when you arrive.”

[4]  
_12 Syn, 1341_  
_Residential District 8_  
_New Adasta, Ziost_

Rafana, stealthed and catching her breath in an alley, slaps at her comlink when it chimes, her voice a bare whisper. “What?”

“Rafana? I can’t raise anyone else. Raitlia called me. What do you need us to do?” Zal’shana’s voice is nothing but concern. “We haven’t gotten many details about what’s happening.”

Rafana is so stunned that all she can do at first is gape at her comlink. “... Zal? What are you - Kryn told Raitlia to stay away! And Raitlia called you and told you to _come_?” She snaps her mouth closed on her next words, takes a deep breath, and opts for something more civil. “Why did you come to Ziost? You shouldn’t be here!”

“Well, we’re not leaving you, or Kryn, or civilians caught in the crossfire to suffer, Rafana. Raitlia said they’re coming to help with evacuations. That’s the least we can do. I know you’re unhappy, but we don’t turn our backs on each other in an emergency. Where are you?”

“I’m in one of the residential districts. You’re going to have to work through buildings to find people. No one will leave their apartments.” She considers for a moment. “Hold, please.” She pulls up a map of the district. “Set down in the plaza at these coordinates. I’ll start directing people to you and meet you there. Be prepared to face heavy resistance.”

“We’re on our way. We’ll stay in touch, Rafana. Be careful.”

Rafana rapidly punches in another frequency. “How are the rescue missions going, Vector?”

“As well as can be expected. We’re about to depart for the orbital station again. The evacuation procedures espoused by the Empire do not seem to be working well.”

“They’re likely not meant to work well,” Rafana mutters. “At least not this far from the city center. Just keep doing what you’re doing. I have one more building to work my way through, and then I’m meeting Zal. If you don’t hear from me, contact her.”

“We will.” There’s a pause. “Stay safe. I love you.”

“I love you, too. After this we’re taking a nice long vacation.” She clicks off her comlink before she gets maudlin, slinking through the apartment door without attracting the notice of the gaggle of possessed soldiers.

She opens the door on empty apartment after empty apartment, and by the fourth floor she’s extraordinarily uneasy. When she reaches the rooftop access, she’s almost convinced herself that the inhabitants have listened to the evacuation announcements and made their way there, thus making her job easier.

She opens the door and gasps.

The rooftop is a charnel house, littered with dead bodies. A woman with vacant eyes and unkempt hair stands on the far side of the roof, holding a bawling child and a small blaster pistol. 

“I got everyone up here, but they just wouldn’t be _quiet_ ,” the woman says, her voice remote. She doesn’t show signs of possession, but she has clearly broken. “They were attracting the soldiers. So I killed them.” She puts the weapon to the child’s head.

Time slows; Rafana knows she won’t be able to stop the woman before she pulls the trigger. All she can do is watch, one arm frozen in the midst of reaching for her rifle. 

She refuses to look away as the woman pulls the trigger, unblinking. 

“Why isn't it quiet?” Her voice rises, echoing shrilly across rooftops. “I just want quiet! I just want to be safe!” She glares at Rafana. “Maybe … maybe it's _you_. Maybe they heard you! Maybe they saw you come in! You can't be up here!”

“Ma’am, please, we’re evacuating,” Rafana says softly, reaching out one hand. “Come with me, and we’ll get you out of here and get you help.”

“Help?” She barks with laughter. “There’s no help. No one is going to save us. We’ve been left to die. Where is the Council? Safe on Dromund Kaas! Where is our army? Murdering us!” She raises the pistol in shaking hands. “You’re with them!”

“I’m not -”

The woman’s trigger finger twitches.

Bile, acidic and burning, rises in Rafana’s throat as she pulls her rifle in one smooth, steady movement and pulls the trigger. The woman collapses on the ground, pistol clattering on the duracrete; Rafana turns away, arms wrapped around her torso as she throws up. 

Her comlink beeps. She touches the button, but doesn’t say anything, sure that if she opens her mouth she’s going to retch again.

“Rafana, we just arrived,” Raitlia says without waiting, all business. “We’ve got maps drawn, a battle plan, and we’re going to set down near the city center. Ca’ii should be here soon. Main goal is still evacuation, right? Has anyone heard from Kryn?”

“No,” Rafana croaks. She clears her throat. “She and Semiri left for the People’s Tower a couple of days ago. Just work on evacs. I … I need a minute. Call Zal if you need something.” She disconnects, then slumps against the wall, breathing hard.

[5]  
_13 Syn, 1341_  
_People’s Tower_  
_New Adasta, Ziost_

“Kryn, down!”

Kryn drops to a crouch as Semiri’s lightsabers whip over her head, dispatching the last Sith in the administrative office. She rises, shoving at the body with her foot. “Nice throw. Now let’s find Lana and - “

“You made it. Good.” Lana strides into the room, raking a hand through her hair. “Time is short, as is reliable assistance.” She punches in a frequency, pacing as she waits for the call to connect. “Theron? Are you in position?”

“Yeah, but this setup isn’t anything like what you described,” Theron says, his words clipped, not looking up from what he's working on.

Lana folds her arms, irritation plain on her face. “So what you’re saying is, you can’t figure it out?”

“Don’t get all -” He stops, takes a breath, and makes a _calm down_ gesture. “I’ll figure it out.”

“We’re about to begin,” Lana says, “so that would be nice.”

As Theron’s hologram disappears, Lana turns to Semiri, Kryn, and Scourge. “One of you needs to make Vitiate angry, so angry that he’ll place all his attention on killing you. You’ll lead him to an electrostatic weapon stored here, in the heart of New Adasta. It’s meant to be a last resort against major civil uprisings, but Theron’s modifying it to be non-lethal.” Semiri’s mouth drops open as Kryn and Scourge nod. “With the reduced charge, its radius of impact will diminish.”

“Fine, let’s -”

“You have a weapon designed with the sole purpose of killing your own people?” Semiri exclaims, horrified. “Are you serious?”

“It’s not as if we install one in every metropolis,” Lana snaps. “We nearly lost New Adasta to unrest once before.”

Semiri makes a face. “Oh, well, in _that_ case,” she says, tone snotty.

“Semiri, let it go,” Kryn murmurs before she turns to Lana. “Shall we get started?” 

Lana nods. “Yes, let’s.”

As Kryn steps toward the holo projector, Semiri grabs her arm. “Wait! I want to talk to him.”

“No.” Kryn’s voice brooks no argument; she is every inch a Dark Councilor. “This is an Imperial matter.” She steps in front of the holoprojector and takes a deep breath before she punches the button. 

In every plaza in the city, a hologram of Kryn flickers to life, towering over the chaos. “Hear me, Vitiate. All your airs of immeasurable power, yet all I see is the manipulation of the weak-minded, the slaughter of the infirm. You conveniently avoid the true challenge, the one you cannot match wills with, the one you cannot hope to strike down. Come, and be tested.”

Kryn jabs at the button and steps back. “That ought to do it.”

Lana nods, pleased, but she’s already looking toward the door. “I have to go now. There’s much to be done. I shouldn’t have come here, truth be told.”

“Go, Lana,” Kryn says, reaching out to pat the woman on the shoulder. “We’ll handle it from here.”

“I imagine you will. May the Force serve you well.”

The three make their way through the tower, stopping in front of a shielded room. A jolt of lightning from Kryn, and the shimmering blue field disappears, allowing access to the large room beyond. Two Jedi stand there, a Twi’lek and a Mirialan, both possessed. The Mirialan sneers at Kryn. “My intellect is beyond you and every other Dark Council member combined. I know more than you could learn in a thousand lifetimes.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Semiri mutters. Her lightsabers hiss on before Kryn can stop her, and she’s propelling herself across the room.

Kryn’s face twists in a scowl, and she looks at Scourge. “This is your doing, you know. Get over there and help my sister.” He nods and leaps toward the fray while Kryn speeds around behind them, lightning gathering around her hands. The Jedi are defeated in short order, and Vitiate’s voice comes out of the Twi’lek’s mouth.

“Go ahead. Kill them. Kill the Jedi.”

The Mirialan laughs. “If you let them live, they will just keep murdering in my name. Don’t hesitate.”

Semiri snarls. “Gladly.” One of her lightsabers is already raised when Kryn snatches her wrist. 

“Don’t be stupid, little sister! You’re giving him what he wants!” She looks around the room. “Look, right there, there’s a generator. We already know shocking them works. Don't do what Vitiate tells you to do.” She steps between Semiri and the Jedi. “Theron asked you to not kill them.” 

“I’m not letting a pawn of Vitiate’s live! Get out of my way, Kryn!” Her hands drop to her lightsabers as her brows knit together.

“So you’ll bathe Ziost in blood, Semiri? You’ll attack your own sister?” Kryn grabs Semiri’s shoulders and gives her a shake. “No! I never thought I’d be saying this to anyone, but get yourself under control!”

“What are you doing?” Vitiate sneers. “This is not the act of a proper Sith Lord!” 

“You see?” Kryn snaps. “You’re siding with _him_ if you kill them!” She doesn’t bother with the generator; lightning, powerful but not lethal, bursts forth from her hand before Semiri can argue, and the two Jedi collapse. “There. Now he’s gone from them, Theron will be happy, and you’re not a bloodthirsty murderer. What’s gotten into you?” 

Semiri shakes her head as though to clear it. “I … I don't know. I just want him dead, Kryn.”

Kryn’s expression softens. “I understand, Semiri, I do. But you _have_ to save your anger for the proper target. You can’t direct it at everything.” She raises an eyebrow at Scourge. “You couldn’t teach her this? What kind of Sith are you?”

“I tried.” He folds his arms. “Clearly it didn’t take.”

Kryn heaves a sigh. “Let’s just … let’s just get to Theron. It’s time to end this.”

Theron is on the roof, still tinkering with the weapon’s settings, when they reach him. “That’s it. Got it set for as big a non-lethal burst as we can manage. Should be enough to zap anyone in range into a nice, long involuntary nap.”

Semiri and Kryn exchange a glance. “Should be?” they ask in unison.

Theron’s face takes on a stubborn set. “Hard to come up with a one size fits all solution, okay? Lots of guesswork involved. Wish there was some way we could do a test run.”

“They’ve got to be closing in,” Scourge says, watching the door. “If there any preparations to be made, I would make them now.”

“We need to be shielded.” Theron sets up his device, and an uneasy silence settles over the group.

“Theron, we came across two of your team,” Kryn says, when she can no longer stand the utter quiet.

“And?” Theron asks, though he looks like he doesn't really want the answer.

Kryn doesn’t look at Semiri. “I gave them a shock. When I left, they were still out.”

“Good. Thanks.” Relief is clear in his voice. “Let’s just hope they don’t end up in the Emperor’s control as soon as they wake up.”

Semiri makes a very undignified noise in the back of her throat. “Could have prevented that.”

“Semiri, shut it,” Kryn snaps. “We already -” She stops, looking over as the door opens and a crowd streams toward them, surrounded by a palpable air of murderous intent.

“Here comes the puppet brigade,” Theron mutters. “We should wait until they’re good and close.” He studies the distance remaining, rests his finger on his remote. “Fingers crossed.”

The button clicks. Electricity fills the air, spiking toward the ground and the pursuing mob, and soon the rooftop is eerily silent. Theron quickly crosses to a fallen woman near the large generator. “This one was closest, took the biggest hit. Still alive.” He heaves a large sigh. “We did it! Let’s just hope got all of them.” He motions to Kryn. “We should call Lana, see if she has a plan for what’s next.”

Behind them, the door opens again. “I have a better idea,” Vitiate says, strolling in wearing the body of a female Jedi.

“Master Surro,” Theron breathes. “No.”

“Watching you believe you had a chance, it’s amused me. Now this whole charade is pathetic.” She levitates an unconscious soldier, dispatches him with a single lightsaber strike. “Now, how do you all wish to die? In combat? Or on your knees?”

There’s the sound of footsteps, the hiss of a lightsaber. Vitiate blocks Lana’s sudden blows with ease, then throws her into a column. She collapses in a heap. Theron meets the same fate, levitated and thrown into a similar without a word. Vitiate’s eyes narrow. “And you, my former Wrath.” 

Scourge steps forward, settling into a combat stance. “You won’t face me?”

“You were a useful tool, but now you are insignificant.” In an instant, Scourge is in a heap next to Theron. Kryn wraps her fingers around Semiri’s wrist, holding her in place. 

“This has nothing to do with your friends,” Vitiate sneers. “This is you and I.”

“No matter how powerful you are,” Kryn says, releasing Semiri’s wrist and calling lightning to her palm, “we will never fall to you.”

The battle is over quickly, a blur of lightsaber strikes and lightning. As Surro comes to her senses, Kryn exchanges a worried glance with Semiri.

“Did that seem _too_ easy to you?” she asks.

“Almost.” Semiri points. “Lana. I’m going to check on Theron and Scourge.”

Lana climbs to her feet and staggers a step before Kryn reaches her. “Thank you, Nox.”

They all meet around Surro. “I saw it,” Surro mutters. “I saw everything. Every life. Every life he took … I took. It’s all I see anymore.” She hangs her head. “I’m a monster.”

“That’s not true,” Theron says fiercely. “You’ll be okay. I’ll take you to Tython. The Jedi will help you restore your mind, make you whole again.”

“And then she’ll be no good to us,” Lana interjects. “We need to understand the connection Vitiate established with this Jedi so we can stop it or exploit it!”

“Yeah, and let me guess: the process is _invasive_.” Theron folds his arms and glares at Lana. “Hasn’t she been through enough?”

“We’ve bought ourselves some time, that’s all. We’re in the middle of a full scale evacuation, Theron.” She pivots to face him. “We can’t risk the fate of the galaxy just to assuage your guilt!”

“You want to take her brain apart,” he shouts, “and you don’t even know if you’ll find anything!”

“We have to try!”

“He’s never leaving!” Surro keens, rocking back and forth. “I’m going to hear him forever!”

“Perhaps it would be best to just put her out of her misery,” Scourge suggests. “No doubt Vitiate’s control has damaged her mind quite extensively.”

“No!” Theron steps between Surro and Scourge. “Absolutely not.” He directs his attention to Semiri and Kryn. “One of you, please, talk some sense into these people!”

Semiri looks from Theron to Lana to Master Surro. Her voice is cold when she finally speaks. “Lana, you take her. We can't ignore any resource in this fight; the consequences are too great.”

Theron is aghast. “I expected it from Darth Nox, but from you? I don’t even … how could you ….” He throws up his hands. “I don’t even know what to say to you. This is your mess now, I’m … I’m gone.” He storms away and disappears through the door without so much as a glance back.

Lana extends a hand to Surro and helps her up. “I’ll see that she’s taken somewhere secure.” There’s a long pause, and then she takes a deep breath. “Can you still feel it?”

All three nod. “Maybe what remains from so many people being possessed?” Semiri ventures. “It’s unlikely to go away so soon. It’s incredibly strong dark side energy.”

“We’ve only stopped him temporarily.” Lana shakes her head. “Evacuations must continue. I’ll call my shuttle and get Surro out of here. It’s good you were here.” She looks at Kryn. “I’m sure Darth Marr will want to speak with you.”

“I’ll contact him from the holoterminal downstairs. Semiri, Scourge, we need to go.”

They reach the lobby, and Kryn crosses to the holoterminal with quick steps. Darth Marr flickers to life almost immediately after she enters his frequency. He’s gesturing, and clearly speaking, but Kryn shakes her head. “I can’t hear you. What was that?” She checks the settings on the terminal. “Marr, I’m going to disconnect and call you back. I -” 

She looks upward as the power goes off in the lobby. “ _Now_ what’s going on?”

Vitiate’s voice echoes through the air. “I’m curious. Do you really believe you’ve accomplished anything here? What do you think you’ve stopped?”

“You feed on all the deaths you cause,” Semiri snaps before Kryn can speak. “We’re doing everything we can to take that away from you!”

“Everything you can will never be enough, little Jedi. You would be wise to remember that from now on. I have other plans now, as you will see.” There’s a pause, and a malevolent chuckle. “I’ve decided that life is more interesting with you in it. If you wish to keep railing against me, then so be it. Your interference changes nothing. When I am finished here, when every life on this world has been exhausted, I want you to be alive to know that I succeeded.”

\--

On Dromund Kaas, Darth Marr slams his hands down, rattling the stack of datapads on the table. “Get the call back! I-” He stops, head cocked. The entire office slowly falls silent as the Sith exchange looks.

Bryasere’s voice is a hoarse whisper. She drops into a vacant chair, hands braced on her knees. Her indrawn breath is reedy, whistling in her throat, and there’s a flash of panic in her eyes. “My lord, what is ...?”

Marr’s fingers tighten on the edge of the table. “I don’t know. Status report, now!” There’s a sudden rush of noise as people rush to pull up planetary reports for Ziost. 

Darth Mortis, sitting at a bank of computers, shakes his head. “Nothing’s changed yet.” His words are laden with trepidation. “At least, not by any metric the reports are tracking.”

“It won’t stay that way.” Marr opens his email, his fingers flying over the keys as he rapidly composes a message. “Whatever Vitiate’s endgame is, it has been put into play.” His voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “We must prepare for the worst.”

\--

The lights come back on and Semiri gasps. “Kryn … Kryn, can you feel ….? It’s like breathing through water. A fog, a vise on my chest. What’s happening?”

Kryn nods, keeping the tremor out of her voice by sheer will alone. “We have to go. Now.” Her message notification chimes. She glances down at it, sees who it’s from, and stops, heart pounding. “Find your crew. I’ll be out of here in a moment.”

“Are you -”

“Don’t second-guess me, Semiri! Go!”

Semiri and Scourge disappear down the steps, speeding away from the People’s Tower, and Kryn opens her new message.

 _K,_  
_Begin evacuation protocols, priority sequence. I assume you’ve already been doing this; consider this the official order._

_There is a vast disturbance in the Force. If we can feel it here, I cannot imagine what it is like there. Your mission is complete. Depart Ziost posthaste; your time to do so grows ever shorter. This is not a request. You are a Dark Council member, and you will be needed in the following weeks, if things are as bad as the projections say._

_Contact me again as soon as you are able, Kryn, even if it’s just to say you’re offworld._  
_M_

Kryn stares at the message for a minute before she replies.

 _M,_  
_You know I hate when you give me orders, but I’ll let it slide this one time. I’ll be leaving with my crew as soon as we oversee evacuations. Will write again soon._  
_K_

[6]  
_13 Syn, 1341_  
_New Adasta, Ziost_

Kryn’s voice, harried and devoid of its usual humor, echoes across seven other comlinks as her steps speed up, her ship in a nearby plaza. “Our plan was only temporarily successful. A full evacuation has been ordered. Imperial transports are working on priority sequence.” She draws a shaky breath. “Never mind that, though. Just get everyone out that you can. Wrath, have your people start loading evacuees. Zal’shana, if you’re still by the Ministry of Logistics, fit as many people in as you can. Hurry!” The comlink falls silent.

Ca’ii, in a residential district, keeps funneling people toward the _Felicity_. “We gotta move, folks! Keep it orderly, get on the ship, let’s go!”

“Captain!” Corso’s voice crackles over Ca’ii’s comlink. “I’m not sure we have any more room!”

Ca’ii glares in Corso’s general direction. “Then make room! There are more people!”

Ziost has descended into a writhing, screaming hellscape, about as far from Imperial law and order as it’s possible to get. Possessed Jedi, possessed Republic soldiers, possessed Imperials, and amid all that is the cacophony of people just trying to escape. Parents shouting for crying children, administrators running out of buildings with armloads of datapads and flimsy and whatever they can save from their departments, the frantic calls for missing people. Faction no longer matters - “Republic” and “Imperial” are ephemeral designations, swept away by the universal drive to _survive_ , to continue on. 

Ca’ii touches a button on her comlink again. “Zal, how are things going at the Ministry?” 

“We’re almost full again. Making another run to the space station, and then we’ll be back. This is just ….” Zal’shana trails off for a moment, and when she continues there’s a tremor in her voice that Ca’ii has never heard before. “Oh, Ca’ii, you are so fortunate you’re not Force sensitive.” 

“Is it getting worse?”

“ _Something_ is happening. I don’t know what, but it’s not good.” A pause. “Ca’ii, we’re not going to be able to save all these people.” Her voice drops to a pained whisper. “We’re not even going to be able to save most of these people.”

Rafana breaks into the conversation “I’ve sent more people to rooftops to await evacuation! I need someone to get them. Tell me one of you can!”

“We should have some room,” Andronikos says. “Kryn just got back to the ship, so we can take off. Send me coordinates, we’ll leave now so we can pick these people up and come back.”

“Sending,” Rafana says before she drops off the line. “Thank you.”

Ca’ii sees a woman trip, everything she’s holding in her arms scattering on the ground. “Gotta go, Zal. I’ll see you on the orbital station when we’re done here.” She shoves her comlink back into a pocket and makes her way through the crush of people. “Let me help you, ma’am.” Crouching, she sweeps flimsy back into a stack. “Sorry, they’re probably out of order,” she says, trying to lighten the mood at least a little bit.

The woman chuckles wanly. “Fits right in with this utter lunacy, doesn’t it?” She stands, arms wrapped tightly around her information. “Thank you, whoever you are.”

Ca’ii smiles. “You’re welcome. My ship is right over there; we still have a little room.” She pulls out her comlink again, thumbs a button. “Raitlia, still have room?”

“We do.” Raitlia’s voice is brimming with barely-restrained anger. “Vik, approaching troops, keep them off our position! We’re fitting people in until we’re standing room only. Send anyone you can’t fit.”

“Thanks.” Ca’ii points at her ship. “Get aboard, ma’am. We’ll get you to the orbital station.”

The woman nods, turning to look back at the city. “This is ... .” She shakes her head. “We followed him and the Council, why is this happening to us?” Turning, she shuffles along with the crowd toward the ramp.

Ca’ii raises her arms. “If you can walk to the next plaza, there’s a BT-7 Thunderclap, the _Astral Chaos_ , that still has room!”

A stream of people breaks out of the crowd, moving in the direction Ca’ii pointed with no small amount of haste; Ca’ii has just turned back toward her ship when her comlink crackles to life again. “You guys know someone’s paying my fee for this, right?”

“Liinz! Glad you’re here, we need another ship, we’re in full evac mode.” Raitlia picks up the call first, her voice briskly professional. “I’ll send you coordinates to where you’re most needed.”

“Send the bill to Havoc Squad, got it!” Liinz’s tone is relentlessly cheerful, and even Ca’ii can hear how forced it is. “Heading to coordinates now.”

“We’re filling to standing room,” Ca’ii chimes in. “Zal says it’s getting worse.”

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Kryn and Semiri just left the ….” Zal stops, unsure. “Where were they?”

“People’s Tower,” Lysch chimes in.

“Yes, that’s it, thank you. And Lysch’s crew has been maintaining a defensive position and tending to the wounded. Thank you for coming, Liinz.”

“You know me, I never miss family get-togethers. Okay, we’re here and I have my coordinates, I’ll be back in touch if I need anything.”

“I’m taking my next group of people,” Zal says. “The orbital station is reaching capacity, though. Do we have a backup plan?”

“Bantha shit.” Kryn’s voice is increasingly strained. “No. The transports can hold people. I can take a shipful up with me. If you’re full head for the orbital station, they _have_ to take these people.” She draws a gasping breath as the blackness in the Force grows stronger. “Hurry! We don’t have much time!”


	22. Phantasms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last ships flee Ziost. Vitiate is not yet done with Kryn.

[1]  
_14 Syn, 1341_

All manner of ships and shuttles lift off from Ziost in the early morning hours, a desperate flock of metallic birds taking wing. The _Adamant_ is standing room only from port to starboard, stem to stern. Every ship in the air right now is standing room only. Kryn knows they’ve done everything they could. 

She also knows it still isn't enough. 

The losses will be catastrophic.

More than one pilot had been assaulted as crowds mobbed ships in their attempt to escape. Babies had been thrust into the arms of strangers, a mother’s final plea to _please save them at least save them_ undeniable. Others stand bereft, holding crying children who don't understand what's wrong.

She can’t look away from the people huddled on rooftops. Mere days ago, she’d sent people to similar locations to await evacuation, to stay safe from the fighting on the streets. And now she’s leaving, while they’re still there. Most of them just stand where they are, or collapse to the ground, resigned to the fact that they’ve been left to whatever fate awaits Ziost.

Kryn can still hear Vitiate, can still hear echoes of his last words to her.

_When I am finished here, when every life on this world has been exhausted, I want you to be alive to know that I succeeded._

She stands in the cockpit, still as a stone, watching the people left behind shrink until the buildings are obscured by the clouds drifting through Ziost’s frigid gray skies. She does not turn her gaze, even when they clear the atmosphere, the darkness of space wrapping around them.

For the first time in her life, the vastness feels suffocating.

Has it really only been eight days?

Andronikos taps her on the shoulder, startling her out of her reverie. “Hey, Sith? You told me to remind you to send a message back to Kaas City once we were offworld.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” she murmurs absently. She slips through the crush of people to the terminal near the holoprojector and starts her message. She’s not even one line through it when everything blurs. Her hands skid across the keys as she grasps futilely at the terminal, and then she knows only darkness.

She crashes into a nearby Imperial soldier; the woman gasps, flinging out an arm to catch Kryn’s slight, unconscious form. Her voice carries easily across the ship. “Someone help! We need a medic!”

There's movement at the edge of the crush of people, and a Republic medic, a younger man with short-cropped mahogany hair, pushes his way through with his bag in hand. “Can you carry her to the medlab?”

The soldier nods, easily lifting Kryn. “Make way!” The crowd shuffles aside as much as possible, though that doesn’t prove to be very much at all, and she leads the medic into the medlab, gently depositing Kryn on an empty table.

An older man, a civilian, leans in the doorway. “Word is most of the Force users aren’t looking too well. We’re shuffling around to get them toward some of the chairs or into the crew living quarters.”

The medic grimaces. “Don’t know what I can do if it’s something to do with the Force, but I’ll get around to them as soon as I make sure she’s stabilized.”

Some surprised exclamations outside herald Andronikos’ hasty arrival in the medbay. “What’s going on with my girl?” He glares at the scratch on her cheek. “What happened?”

“She fainted at the terminal and fell into me,” the soldier says. “This medic was quick to leap to her aid.”

Andronikos looks down, smooths a strand of sweat-dampened hair from Kryn’s temple, his brows drawing together as her forehead wrinkles. “She’s all right?”

The medic studies the monitor over Kryn’s head. “Her vitals are mostly stable. Her heart rate has been erratic, though nothing too out of the ordinary. All we can do is keep monitoring her and the others. Right now, she appears to be the only one who’s unconscious.” His voice softens. “When she awakens, you’ll be the first to know.”

Andronikos shakes his head, hooks a stool with his foot and pulls it to Kryn’s bedside. “I don't have anything to do until we're closer to Dromund Kaas,” he says, sitting down. “I'll stay with her; you go check on the others.”

[2]  
Light feathers at the edges of Kryn’s sight, the scene around her slowly coming into focus. She gasps when she realizes she’s back in the Citadel, standing in the center of the Sanctum, away from the nightmare of Ziost. It’s busier than usual, Sith crowding the walkways, rushing to unknown destinations with arms full of datapads and flimsy. 

Something isn't right.

When did she get to the Citadel?

Uneasiness sits like a stone in her stomach as Darth Marr, towering above so many of the people that all but leap out of his way, strides toward her. She has never been so glad to see someone in her life, and has to bite down hard on the cry of relief threatening to burst forth as he draws to a stop, looking down at her. She can’t stop herself from reaching out, resting a hand on his forearm, reassuring herself that he’s actually there, actually in front of her, that she’s not alone, that she’s _home_. 

“Marr ….” Her voice is tremulous, her hand tightening on his arm. “Ziost, it’s -”

“It’s gone,” he snaps, cold and impersonal as he pulls away from her, “because you failed. Billions of people are dead. The Empire is crippled because you couldn’t accomplish the mission.”

The Sanctum has fallen silent, accusing eyes on all sides watching her. Her pulse thunders in her ears and she can’t seem to get enough oxygen no matter how deeply she breathes, each inhalation labored. “But I - we … we never could have -”

He gives no sign that he even heard her, arms folded across his torso as though to ward her off. “Were you hoping for a warm welcome? You failed _me_ ,” he continues in that wintry voice. He is relentless in his onslaught, each word a blade piercing her heart. “I thought I could trust you. I thought you possessed the power and ability to merit your seat on the Council.” He stops, and all she can do is mouth the word _no_ before he continues. “I was wrong. You are nothing.”

She drops her head, surprised to see there aren’t rivulets of crimson running down her chest. She takes a step closer and tilts her head up to look at him, stretching out a numb hand as though to cup his face in her palm. Her voice is less than a whisper. “Matthius -”

He slaps her hand away and takes a step backward. “Don’t call me that. Ever.”

Kryn ignores how her throat constricts, forcing the words out. “I tried. We did everything we could. _Please_ , don’t -”

“You don’t belong here.” He turns on his heel, then pauses, looking over his shoulder, his parting words flung at her. “You should have stayed a slave.” 

She sinks to her knees, hands clenched around each other and pressed into her sternum, heedless of the people sweeping around her like water flowing around a stone. It would have been more merciful to simply draw his lightsaber and decapitate her, rather than leave her to this lingering ruination of her soul.

Darth Marr’s reputation doesn’t include mercy. 

_Do you really think he’ll want anything to do with you after your disastrous mission, Nox?_ A voice, dark as black treacle, oozes through her mind. _He’ll leave you, now that you have been revealed for the powerless impostor you are. You'll be left with your memories and your unwanted heart. Discarded without a second thought._

_Alone when you draw your dying breath._

She is nodding with Vitiate’s words, too exhausted to fight them, when the blackness claims her.

[3]  
The klaxons are startlingly loud even in the chaos of Marr’s office, and everyone turns to look at the bank of computers set up on the conference table.

“Marr, we’ve lost every planetary sensor,” Mortis says, moving from screen to screen and angrily tapping at keyboards. “The defense complex. The People’s Tower. Outlying settlements. The entire planet has gone dark.”

Bryasere disconnects her holocom. “Before we lost connection, the administrator of the orbital station said they’ve been experiencing power fluctuations, but had no indications as to what caused it.” 

“What in blazes could make the entire ….” Marr trails off, slowly sinks into his chair. “Vitiate,” he says in a harsh whisper. Everyone directs their attention to him. “It has to be.”

“On such a scale, my lord?” Bryasere asks, though the note of skepticism in her voice is false. “Can he -”

“He has once before. I think it is safe to say that our Emperor no longer concerns himself with the welfare of his people,” Marr growls. “I did not think he would go so far as to actively exterminate them, however. Perhaps the time for slavish devotion to such a being is coming to a close.”

In the silence that follows this pronouncement, his message notification chimes. He reaches out and taps a key.

 _M,_  
_No room at the orbital station, not nearly enough people eva_

He stares at the screen until Bryasere clears her throat. “My lord? What is it?”

“From Darth Nox,” he says, though it feels like he’s speaking underwater, remaining impassive through force of will alone. “The orbital station was full. I assume any other ships carrying refugees will be heading straight for Dromund Kaas. We must be prepared for them.” He leans back in his chair, reaching out through the Force, scowling almost immediately. There is a pall over everything, a shroud he can’t push his way through, and one hand tightens into a fist before he takes a deep breath and turns to his computer.

 _K,_  
_I’m sure I would have felt it if you’d fallen, but this obfuscation in the Force has left me doubtful._

 _Just let me know you made it off Ziost._  
_M_

He rises and makes his way over to Darth Mortis, palms flat against the tabletop as he leans over to speak quietly. “The backup files for the Ministry of Logistics. We’re going to have to access them.” His voice drops even more. “Vowrawn’s sphere is about to be severely weakened. We will have to guard against those who would pick it apart like so much carrion. More than ever, we must stand together.”

Mortis nods, then stands. “I’ll depart for the archives immediately.”

[4]  
When Kryn swims back to consciousness, she’s laying in her bed. She can't shake the sense of wrongness.

Who brought her home? 

The question is swept away as her memory offers up the scene at the Citadel in brutal clarity, sending her stomach lurching. She concentrates on the light above her head, its delicate metalwork glinting. If she thinks about it too long, she’s going to vomit, and she spent far too much time and too many credits decorating this room to throw up on it now. 

She starts when she hears someone shift, pushing herself up to a seated position. All seven of her sisters are standing in her room, arrayed in front of the door. “I don’t even want to know how some of you managed to sneak into the heart of Kaas City,” she says, almost groaning with relief. “Today has been the absolute worst -”

“Now that you’re awake,” Raitlia snaps, gruff as always, sounding like she’s addressing troops, “we’re not here to listen to you whine about your petty problems, Kryn’la.”

“I … I’m sorry,” Kryn mutters. “I just thought -” She shifts her gaze to each sister in turn, then drops her head into her hands with a low moan. “You, too?”

It is Vitiate, not Raitlia, who answers, his voice seeping into every corner of Kryn’s mind. _You have no one. Not your lover, not your crew … why would you think you'd have your sisters?_

“How many people have you gotten killed, I wonder?” Raitlia’s eyes are narrowed to green slits. “Have you ever thought about that? All the lives snuffed out because of you? Soldiers. Civilians. Sith. Jedi. Neither side has escaped your blade and your lightning. You’ve cut a murderous swath across the galaxy in your desperate grab for power, and you don’t even care.”

“Not only that,” Semiri says, arms akimbo. “You’re only helping Scourge because you want to one-up other Sith.” She gives Kryn an accusing glare. “I bet you’re hoping you can work out an immortality serum for yourself, because nothing is more important than Kryn and her oh-so-important research.”

“Lots of things are important to Darth Nox,” Rafana sneers. “Just not regular people. Or remembering where she came from. Nothing but ensuring she, a very important Sith, stays on top. Doesn’t matter who she has to step over to get and stay there. Doesn’t matter that she and her ilk are ruining the galaxy.” 

“Oh, are we talking about what she does poorly? How about how your advice, such as it is, only makes my life worse?” Ca’ii’s face, twisted in a scowl, looks like a stranger’s. “My life is a shambles, and it only degrades every time you help me. You claim to want to assist, but only in ways that amuse you, that benefit you.”

Liinz snorts in disgust. “Just like every other Sith. Slavishly devoted to ideology, too myopic to see beyond your own nose, not a care for what happens in the real world beyond your relics and your research and your pretty shiny baubles.”

“Don’t lump her in with us. She’s a traitor to our order.” Lysch’s words are hard as stone. “Diluting our ranks, a perfect representation of why aliens should never be Sith. Look at how she’s trying to manipulate the Empire. Pure treason.”

Zal’shana shakes her head. “You can’t even be a good Sith,” she says, hands clasped in front of her. “You’re scared of your emotions, the very things that are supposed to drive you. Look at how you run from them as soon as they venture beyond the meager definitions you allow them to have.” She falls silent, staring at the top of Kryn’s bowed head. “You’re a coward.”

Kryn raises her head. “You all really believe this?” Her voice is a hoarse whisper as she forces herself to look at them, gaze moving from one glowering face to the next.

_Of course they do. They’ve just been waiting for the right time to tell you. You didn’t really think any of them cared about you, did you?_

Kryn drops her head again, silently pleading for the serenity of unconsciousness to claim her, though a vague tremor of unease shakes her shoulders when she consider the possibility that she may wake up to something even worse.

She isn’t given a choice in the matter, succumbing to the creeping darkness a few seconds later.

[5]  
Marr’s office is empty. The Sith have scattered, preparing for an influx of refugees, shoring up defenses, monitoring the miasma within the Force. No matter how hard he glares at his computer, no matter how many times he checks his email, no response is there.

Bryasere threads her way through the eerily quiet office, stopping by his desk. “My lord, Darth Mortis called from the archives. He reports that the backups here at the Citadel are extensive, and our main issues will be reestablishing the Ministry’s personnel and finding a space.”

Marr nods, though he doesn’t look up from his screen. “Well, that’s one piece of good news.”

The Second bites her lip and considers her words. “I’m sure Darth Nox survived, my lord. She’s likely dealing with refugees and the power fluctuations, too.” When he doesn’t answer, instead regarding her in total silence, she swallows hard. “But it’s not my place, my lord. I apologize for speaking out of turn.”

She is two steps away from his desk when he finally speaks, his tone thoughtful. “Thank you, Bryasere.”

[6]  
Her vision is still shrouded as a melange of scents waft through the air.

Expensive perfume, one of a kind; the creator labors in an underground laboratory, slave collar around his slender neck. Kolto. Shoe polish and furniture polish; her master prefers things gleaming and spotless. 

Her knees are pressed into the deep azure carpet of Lord Crisan’s bedroom, her head bowed so deeply her chin is nearly touching her chest. She’s being reprimanded. Again. She’s surprised she hasn’t worn away the carpet, she spends so much time here.

 _Did you believe you could escape this?_ Vitiate’s words are tinged with baleful amusement. _You will never escape this. Anytime you smell perfume with Coruscanti lily in it. Anytime you hear someone called a pet. Anytime you visit Biotic Sciences. It is fear you will never excise, a tumor you will never fully remove, and it makes you weak._

Crisan is pleasant and conversational, as always.

“Oh, honestly, pet. I don’t give you difficult chores. I don’t ask for much from you. All I do is ask you to serve the guests promptly and pleasantly, and submit when required to our efforts to expand the Empire’s knowledge.” She pauses, then continues, her tone still cheery. “Have you heard what Lord Nefas does to his slaves? I could send you to him, then perhaps you would realize how lucky you are.” A long, delicate finger under her chin, and Crisan is tilting Kryn’s head up. “I might anyway. Your constitution is proving too weak for the experiments I require you for.”

“I … I’m not supposed to be here,” Kryn whispers. “You sent me to the Academy.”

Crisan laughs, a charming lilt that has drawn many a visitor to her bed. It might make Kryn like her if she didn’t know Crisan so well. “The Academy? Oh, silly dear, for a few parlor tricks that any Sith toddler can perform?” The light gleams on her crimson skin as she waves a dismissive hand. “You lot, you aliens … you have your station, and you will never rise beyond it.”

“But the Academy,” Kryn insists, though trying to recall facts is like trying to see through fog. “No, you _did_ send me to the Academy. I’m … I’m not … I was - I _am_ a member of the Dark Council.”

The amber eyes narrow. “You blaspheme against the Sith, and I will not tolerate it.”

“No, I -”

“We will not discuss this again, slave,” Crisan murmurs, her lips practically kissing Kryn’s ear, and when she calls Kryn _slave_ she is truly angry, for Crisan likes to pretend at niceties. “If you continue to argue with me, you will never see the outside of this estate again. And I will give you to my beloved Lord Tyran. He’s been ever so persistent that you be a part of his test subject group. I’ve heard it may disfigure your face, but,” and cruel amusement colors her words as she flicks a finger at Kryn’s eye covering, “you’re already disfigured, aren’t you?” 

Something pulls at the back of her mind, a flash of certainty. “Darth Marr wouldn’t countenance something like Tyran’s experiments.”

“I should have you entertain at my parties! Who knew you were so droll?” Crisan laughs so hard that she has to sit on the delicate stool in front of her vanity, wiping tears of mirth out of her eyes before she speaks. “Darth Marr? Darth Marr cares for little else than warfighting. You think he cares that some slaves perish to create a weapon that will cripple Republic soldiers? Or that some are mangled as we develop new technology to heal Imperial soldiers? Don’t be ridiculous.”

 _She’s right, you know. Nothing is more important than the Empire. He’s told you as much, hasn’t he?_

Light twinkles briefly on gemmed rings; the slap echoes off the walls as Kryn collapses in a heap, hand clutched to her throbbing cheek. “Your lack of gratitude wounds me. I am the only one who cares about you. After all, as you well know, I treasure all of my things. It’s not as if you’re worth anything to anyone else.”

She braces her foot against Kryn’s shoulder and shoves her backward. “I am hosting a salon in two hours. I expect the solarium to be immaculate, slave.” She shakes her head. “Really, _you_ , a Councilor? What flights of fancy your primitive mind concocts!”

_No matter how far you run, no matter how far you rise, you can never truly leave, Nox. You will always be here. Standing in a laboratory, hands shaking. Kneeling on this carpet, hate burning in your heart. Looking in the mirror, wondering if today is the day you finally find enough courage to fling yourself out of the topmost window._

Kryn’s head hits the floor with a sickening thud, and she knows no more.

[7]  
Marr has never given thought to what the dying shriek of a planet might sound like, the sound of a world forcibly rent from the Force, and would have preferred to go the rest of his days without ever hearing such a thing.

He draws a shuddering breath when he realizes he’s listening for her. He wouldn’t be able to pick her voice out of the cacophony, and even if he could he’s not sure he’d want to. Still he reaches out, unwilling to turn away from this, foundering in the cries of innumerable people echoing in his mind.

His fingers tighten on the datapad he’s been reading, sparks leaping from the device when he can’t stop his hand from clenching, crushing the metal and the delicate circuitry inside.

[8]  
She awakens in New Adasta, surrounded by people, and she feels the heaving, roiling cloud of living malignance before she can see it.

She has traversed the Nightmare Lands of the Voss. She has seen the horrors of war. She has witnessed the depravities of degenerate Sith. She has stood on Yavin Four and breathed in the dark side energies that stretch through the planet itself. 

None of that prepared her for this, for the cataclysm of hatred and death and devastation that crests over the edge of the horizon, black and ruinous.

Kryn is running for her life then, swept up in the thundering stampede of mindless, frightened people. In the end, the howling malevolence envelopes them and people fall to ash around Kryn, leaving her gasping for air, one hand clutching her throat as she stands in the center of a silent, gaping wound in the Force. 

_I wanted you here to witness this. To feel the futility of your actions. To know, with every fiber of your being, that you cannot stop me. To know that you will fail everyone you’ve ever cared about, and that you will be the last to die._

The last thing she hears is Vitiate’s laughter, booming through the silence of the now-dead world.

[9]  
Marr’s office door slides shut behind him. “Bryasere, I'm going to the spaceport. Coordinate with Mortis and Ravage and work out a solution for our influx of refugees. If Ravage gives you problems, he can come to the spaceport and speak with me personally.”

“Yes, my lord.” She bites the inside of her cheek. “Have you heard from Darth Nox?”

“No.” He's quiet for a moment. “Once you are done with Mortis and Ravage, you may go.”

She inclines her head. “Yes, my lord.”

[10]  
Andronikos has stayed at Kryn’s side throughout her unending nightmare. His hand is going numb from how hard she's clutching it. He's resorted to bargaining with the universe, offering to join the military, give up pirating, be respectable if only she would awaken.

The universe, it would seem, is uninterested in his offers. 

Ashara and Xalek had made their way to the medbay earlier and are perched on one of the beds, leaning against each other, watching Kryn and Andronikos in solemn silence. They both look up when they hear footsteps approaching.

“Andronikos?” A Zabrak woman in Republic armor pokes her head into the medbay; Talos had appointed her pilot once it was clear Kryn wasn't waking up anytime soon. “We're nearing Dromund Kaas. You better take over; they may not take too kindly to me requesting to land.”

He nods without looking up. “I'll be right there.” There's a pause as he considers his words. “Sith, this is not how you're going out,” he says fiercely. “Sleeping in a bed, rather than fighting? That's a disgrace, and you know it. So, unless you want me to make fun of you for eternity, you better wake up.”

When she doesn't move, he growls, scrubbing a hand across his face. “You two, just … just -”

Kryn bolts upright, gasping, hand outstretched toward something only she can see. “No!” She flails her arms for a moment, and slips off the edge of the bed. 

Andronikos leaps up, sliding an arm underneath her and setting her back on the bed. “Sith! You're awake!” He gathers her to him. “Don't scare me like that again!”

She wraps her arms around him and rests her head against his chest, breathing hard. “It was ….” She stops, shaking her head. “Never mind that. Where are we?”

“Nearing Dromund Kaas. Your sisters aren't far behind us. From their reports, every Force user was shaken up about the time you were, though you were the only one hit hard enough to knock you out.”

“Vitiate wasn't done playing mind games with me, I guess,” Kryn mutters. “Anyway, it's done and I don't want to talk about it. Let's go prepare to land.”

They make their way to the cockpit, and Andronikos notices how she just slumps in her seat, though he chalks it up to exhaustion. She rests her cheek on her palm, staring out into space, lost in thought.


	23. Distortion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn returns to Dromund Kaas and delivers her report to the Council, but nightmares do not so easily relinquish their hold.

[1]  
The spaceport is madness, enveloped in a dull roar of panic, and Marr has to fight his way through a sea of people more focused on their fear than their surroundings. He stops in the hallway near Kryn’s hangar, searching the crowd, but there are too many people between them. 

Too many people, too many things to do, too many things still unsaid. 

He hears her first, barking orders at a number of acolytes who scatter to do her bidding … and then he sees her, arm slung around Andronikos, who’s helping keep her upright. He releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he takes her in: her hair flying loose on all sides, face drawn, a small cut on her cheek vivid against her too-pale skin. 

She’s here. 

She’s _alive_. 

Kryn’s voice rises and she pulls her arm from around the pirate’s shoulders, stepping into the spaceport attendant’s personal space, jaw jutting out as she glares up at him. “You’ll damn well make room for the ships requesting permission to land or I’ll relieve you of duty right now!” The attendant stammers something that Marr can’t hear, and Kryn scowls even harder, jabbing a finger into the attendant’s chest. “No, I don’t care that they’re Republic IDs! Let those ships land!”

Marr feels the hairline fractures in her soul, feels her shake, then brace herself against Andronikos when an unbidden memory surfaces. He curses the fact he can’t tell all of these Force-damned people to get out of his way, curses the need to maintain appearances, curses his station and her station and everything standing between them. 

More people pour into the hallway, and Kryn seeks out the pilots of the now-landed vessels; Marr recognizes the major from Havoc Squad and the Mirialan he’d met at Kryn’s quite some time ago. He sees Scourge towering over that mouthy Jedi he’s running around with, though he doesn’t recognize the other Jedi, a Twi’lek, standing a short distance behind them, clinging to a Republic soldier. The women nod at whatever Kryn tells them, and she bows to each, the noise in the spaceport dying down at such an unprecedented display from a Councilor toward members of the Republic.

 _Those must be her other sisters_ , he thinks. He commits each to memory.

The Wrath stalks toward Kryn, and to Marr’s surprise wraps an arm around Kryn’s shoulders as she speaks to Andronikos, who nods and moves away, going to carry out whatever orders the Wrath has issued. She turns Kryn toward the main thoroughfare, the pair talking quietly as they make their way toward Marr. 

They finally reach him, and he’s never wanted so badly to touch someone in his entire life, momentarily balling his hands into fists in an effort to quell the sheer force of this desire. “Darth Nox.”

She’s focused on her conversation and doesn’t answer him right away. “There’s no more time. We need Vowrawn now. If it’s the Hand he’s concerned about -”

“I will go get him myself,” Lysch says grimly. “They will have to go through me, and they will not succeed. I will confer with Rafana; we’ll stand a better chance if she can come with me. Either way, I’ll depart as soon as I can get my ship prepped.”

“Good. We need to get the Ministry up and running again. I know we have backups here, but we need his expertise.” Kryn finally looks over, and for the briefest second her hard veneer falls away, revealing a look of relief, though it’s preceded by a flash of something he can’t quite identify. “Marr.”

“Nox. I -” He stops for just a moment, even though he knows he can’t say anything he wants to say. “The Council needs your report.”

Kryn nods as the blue-eyed Jedi appears out of the crowd, her face haggard. “Darth Nox. All your people are ….” She stops, at a loss for words, and shrugs ineffectually. “Well. They’re disembarked. I can’t say they’re all right. I’m so sorry.” She wavers on her feet, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Thank you, Semiri. I doubt anyone will hassle you as you leave, but -”

Scourge appears at Semiri’s side, putting one hand on her shoulder to steady her. “I’ll handle it, Darth Nox.” He nods at Marr before giving Semiri a halfhearted scowl. “I’m putting my foot down, Jedi, you’re done. Back to the ship.” His tone is stern. “I’ll pull seniority if I have to.”

“Certainly are _senior_ ,” Semiri murmurs with a fleeting, wan smile. “Fine. Let’s go.”

As they disappear into the crush of people, Kryn looks at Lysch again. “Can you check on my crew? I need to go give this report. And how is Jaesa?”

“She finally fell asleep in our medbay, despite her repeated insistence that she didn’t need any sleep whatsoever. I’ll take care of your people. Go do what you have to do.”

“All right.” Kryn staggers a step before she regains her footing.

“I’m driving you to the Citadel,” Marr says, catching her arm to steady her. “You’re in no condition to get yourself there.” He expects an argument, a protestation, _something_. Kryn is stubbornly independent, occasionally to her detriment.

She doesn’t even mount a token protest. “That might be for the best.”

[2]  
As soon as Kryn collapses into the speeder seat, she’s got a datapad out and is typing furiously. “So much to get done, so much to remember,” she mutters, mostly to herself. “Can’t leave anything out.”

He slows the speeder, easing out of the main traffic lane and cruising along under the tall jungle trees. “Kryn ….”

She waves him off. “I’m fine. Woke up a few minutes before -” Her holocom beeps. “One second. Yes?”

The flickering blue figure of spaceport administrator Walan Khryshen appears. “My lord, I can’t in good faith allow Havoc Squad to leave -”

“You _will_ allow them to leave, because they rescued Imperial citizens in good faith, defying the Republic’s orders in the process!” Kryn snaps, her exhaustion swiftly buried. “If so much as one single blaster is pointed in their direction, including at that astonishingly obnoxious droid of theirs, you will answer to me!” Her voice is glacial, with no sign of the thread of good humor it usually contains. “You will explain in great detail, between your agonized screams and the gnashing of your teeth, raising your voice to be heard over the wails of your dying family, why you disobeyed a member of the Dark Council! Am I clear?”

Marr raises an eyebrow.

There is a very long pause. “Yes, my lord.”

“The same goes for every single Republic vessel that I personally authorized at that spaceport. I grow weary of repeating myself, and if we have to have this discussion one more time, Administrator Khryshen, I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. You will beg for the sweet release of death for _days_. Do we understand each other?”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

Kryn punches the button twice, keys in a code. “Andronikos?”

“Sith, how are you still mobile?”

She flaps a hand at him. “Things to do. Listen, I need you and ….” She ponders, drumming her fingers on the dashboard. “Get Lieutenant Pierce, and keep an eye on Khryshen. He’s getting twitchy about the Republic ships and I don’t trust him to obey me. If need be, I want a rifle jammed into his temple to ensure his complete cooperation.”

“All right.” He pauses for a moment. “Kryn, please get some rest soon.”

Kryn ignores this. “When I have time. Get to it, pirate.”

“On it, Sith.” He disconnects.

Marr leaves Kryn to her notes for the rest of the trip; the Citadel is a hive of activity when they arrive, despite the early hour, with people streaming in and out of all three wings. Kryn nimbly weaves braids and wraps them into a chignon, pins pinched between her lips before she jams them into her hair. “Darth Marr, is there particular information you want presented at this initial meeting?”

He notes her use of his full title, but doesn’t say anything. “A timetable of events. Evacuation efforts, though you needn’t mention the Republic if you don’t wish to. Casualty estimations, if you have them. Anything you deem pertinent.”

“Ugh, my helm is still on my ship,” she says, scowling. “I should have it.”

“Kryn, I -” He stops. She folds her arms, waiting. But he can't make the words come, can't put his feelings over duty, even now. "We need to speak to the rest of the Council. They should be assembled by now.”

She glances toward the Citadel. “Yes.”

[3]  
An hour later, Kryn, standing in the center of the Council chamber, finishes giving her report and opens the floor to questions about things she didn’t cover. Marr is the first to speak. 

“Why were Jedi there?”

She pivots to look at him. “Theron Shan caught wind of Vitiate’s presence on Ziost. He thought he could eliminate the threat on his own, and sent in a team of black ops Jedi, some group called the Sixth Line, so called because they add on another line to their code.” Kryn thinks back through disjointed memories; Ziost feels like a fever dream, not least of all because of how bone-weary she is. “‘There is no contemplation, only duty,’” she quotes. “That’s it. Hardliners, even for Jedi.”

“I see. And why did he presume he was the best equipped to handle this?”

“Perhaps he assumed we wouldn’t.” She shrugs. “After all, as far as the Republic is concerned, Vitiate is still the leader of the Empire. Chancellor Saresh has proven time and again that she’s more than willing to sacrifice her own people to bloody our nose. Whatever his reasoning, it made things worse, but we handled it.”

“You handled it?” Ravage leans back in his chair. “How exactly did you handle it? Ziost is gone. We’ve suffered innumerable losses. According to you, you didn’t even stop Vitiate; indeed, he’s now out there, who knows where, waiting to strike again.”

Kryn drops her head, and for a brief moment, Marr is concerned that she’s just going to stand there and take the verbal lashing. A series of emotions skim across her face, she takes a deep breath, then looks up, her expression hardening. 

“Yes, we lost Ziost,” she snaps. “But we _tried_. And what were you doing? Standing around here, caf in hand as usual? This mission was not accomplished in an optimal manner, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit here and be lectured by the likes of you, Ravage.” Her fingers fall near the hilt of her lightsaber. “How about we trade? You can have my ten endless days of death and blood and screaming, and I’ll take your what, three days of working late? Sound fair? Sounds fair to me.”

The anger is rolling off her in waves, and as happy as Marr is to see her looking somewhat like her old self, the Council chamber doesn’t need to become a combat arena this early in the morning. “Nox -”

Kryn rides right over his attempt to stop her. “As soon as you match even a quarter of my achievements, then perhaps I’ll consider you fit to lick my boots or look in my direction, you -”

“Nox!” Marr’s shout echoes off the bare walls.

She whips her gaze to him, jaw jutting forward. She doesn't attempt to soften the insolence in her voice. “What?”

“You’ve made your point.” He folds his arms. “Your feud with Ravage is not the focus of this meeting.”

“It may not be now, but soon. Very, very soon,” she hisses. “I’m not going to have a ....” She visibly reins in her temper and regains her composure. “Is there anything else anyone wants to know?”

“What are these reports of Republic ships at the spaceport?” Mortis asks. “The administrator called me in a panic and said you authorized Havoc Squad to land, among others.”

“Oh, did he?” Kryn makes only the barest effort to sound pleasant. “When did he call you?”

Mortis consults his chrono. “Ten minutes before the meeting, give or take. Why?”

“Pardon me a moment.” Kryn whips out her holocom, jabs at it. “Andronikos. Status.”

“Your buddy the administrator tried to tattle on you. Pierce waited til he was off the call to smack him in the head with the butt of his rifle.” The pirate chuckles. "He's still out cold."

Kryn doesn't contain her satisfied smirk. “Excellent. I’m in the Council chamber right now. Have all ships departed?”

“Yes, the last lifted off a few minutes ago. They all made promises to leave Imperial space as soon as possible; no reason to believe they won’t. There are a few other things to discuss, but they can wait til later, given that you’re … busy.” He shrugs. “What do you want us to do with Khryshen? You were pretty clear that if he disobeyed you’d kill him. Oh, I promised I’d tell you that Pierce has offered to kill him for you. Says there’s no need for you to waste your time coming back out here for a backstabbing piece of bantha dung.”

“Tell him thank you, but I’ll take care of Khryshen myself. Monitor radio traffic until they’re out of Imperial space. I won’t have people who helped us, disobeying their own orders in the process, getting shot down as they leave.” 

Kryn disconnects, looks back at Mortis, completely unapologetic. “As my associate said, I gave Khryshen ample notice of what would happen if he contravened my orders again. Those Pubs put themselves in harm’s way to help Imperials. I won’t shoot them like dogs. We’re better than that.” 

Mortis nods. “I agree with you.”

“We had Havoc Squad within reach, and you let them _go_?” Acina’s hologram snaps. “Surely I’m not the only one who views this as treason!”

“And here I thought we were friends, Acina,” Kryn says, quite insincerely. “I’m sure Ravage agrees with you, which certainly puts you in good company.” She flashes a cheeky smile. “It wasn’t just Havoc Squad. Theron Shan called in the Hero of Tython. Not only did I let her go, I _cooperated_ with her on Ziost.”

Acina splutters for a moment. “What?”

“As I said, they were there in Ziost’s last minutes, helping Imperial citizens. We would have lost far more people without them.” A thought occurs to her. “Speaking of assistance, Darth Marr, we owe fees to a smuggler and bounty hunter who also came to help. I can pay them out of my pocket if need be, but -”

He holds up a hand to forestall her. “No. This was an Imperial matter. We have the funds. Bring me their account information after this meeting.”

“Are we just not talking about this anymore?” Acina exclaims. “Marr, you can’t tell me you agree with her actions!”

“On the contrary, I can tell you that quite easily, Acina. These were extraordinary circumstances. The matter was handled as Darth Nox saw fit. I have neither the time nor the inclination to play nursemaid to Councilors.”

“But she -”

Marr’s voice turns hard. “Enough. It is done.”

“No!” Ravage slams a fist down on the arm of his chair. “You don’t get to arbitrarily decide this. Put it to a vote!” 

Kryn’s hands settle on her hips. “Go ahead. Vote,” she spits. “I'll wait.”

“Very well.” Marr doesn’t try to disguise his annoyance. “Those who feel Darth Nox’s actions were an act of treason against the Empire, a crime bearing the penalty of death?”

Acina’s hand goes up almost immediately, as does Ravage’s. Aruk wavers for a moment, but ultimately decides to keep his hand down.

“Those who do not feel her actions were an act of treason?” He barely waits for everyone else to get their hand up. “Satisfied, Ravage?”

“Not remotely.” He glares in Kryn’s direction. “This will be dealt with, Nox.”

She doesn’t even acknowledge he’s spoken. “Was there anything else anyone wanted to know?” When the room remains silent, Kryn continues. “My official report will be filed in the archives tomorrow. If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long ten days.” She turns and marches smartly out of the Council chamber, leaving the rest of the Councilors staring after her.

“Treason, Acina?” Mortis shakes his head. “I could understand if it had harmed Imperial interests, but it didn’t. Is there some reason my pronouncement wasn't enough for you?”

“There will be no cooperation with the enemy! She could have destroyed Havoc Squad and a prominent Jedi in one stroke, and didn’t. And Marr, I cannot believe you sided with her.”

He stares at her, the silence spinning out until it’s uncomfortable. “Are you presuming to tell me how to fulfill my duties, Acina?”

She’s the first to look away, focusing on something out of sight before redirecting her attention to Marr. “No. It simply makes me question if you do have the Empire’s best interests at heart.”

Marr stands. “If this single thing is enough to make you question my devotion to the Empire, then you weren’t particularly overburdened with faith in me to begin with. This meeting’s adjourned.”

Mortis falls into step with Marr in the hallway. “That was considerably more exciting than I was expecting.”

“Treason.” Marr snorts, hitting the button to call the lift. “Ridiculous. This is exactly the sort of fractiousness that’s ruining us from within.”

Mortis nods. “We need Vowrawn.”

“The Wrath said she was going to find him. I believe they’re leaving today - ah.” He points as they step off the lift. “There she is.” Lysch is standing next to his office, looking like nothing so much as a very angry Sith statue. “I’ll keep you informed as to any developments, Mortis. Excuse me.” He crosses to Lysch in short order. “Wrath.”

“Marr. Have you seen Nox?”

He shakes his head. “She left the Council chambers before I did.” They stride through his front office, and he pauses at Bryasere’s desk. He nudges the sleeping woman, head resting on her desk. “Bryasere. Go home.”

She sits up with a start, hurriedly snatching at the piece of flimsy stuck to her cheek. “My lord! No, I need to finish -”

“Go home,” he repeats, more stern this time.

“Did Darth Nox …?” She trails off, unsure how she wants to ask the question.

He knows he doesn’t sound as impartial as he should. “She made it back.”

Bryasere smiles. “Oh, good!” She notices Lysch. “Oh! My lord Wrath, I didn’t see you there! My apologies.”

“Nothing to apologize for, but I believe you were given a command?”

She nods, standing quickly. “Yes, my lord. Darth Marr, I’ll be here promptly at eight tomorrow morning.” Snatching an armful of datapads, Bryasere hustles out of the office.

Marr opens the door to his personal office. “Come in.”

Lysch follows him across the expansive room; she settles into one of the chairs in front of his desk, then pulls out her holocom, tapping buttons. “Kryn? Where are you?”

Kryn doesn't look up from what she's doing. “My office," she mumbles, distracted. 

“Can you meet us in Marr’s? Rafana should be here in a moment, and we need to get going as soon as possible.”

She hesitates, then settles some internal debate. “Yes. Yes, I can. I’ll be right there.”

As the hologram winks out, Marr looks at Lysch. “Is there something she’s not telling me about Ziost?”

Lysch is quiet, tapping her lip as she thinks back. “If there is, she hasn't confided in me. Why do you ask?”

“She’s just been acting strangely. It’s likely exhaustion, but I wanted to rule out other options.”

The office door opens, revealing Rafana, who’s peering curiously around Marr’s outer office. “There’s no one out here. That’s strange. Isn’t this place usually a madhouse?”

“Give it a couple of hours,” he says. “It is five in the morning. Please, sit.” He indicates the second empty chair and waits to continue until Rafana is seated. “We’re just waiting on -” He looks up as the door opens again, glad his mask hides the smile that pulls at his mouth. “There she is.”

Nox strides across the office, stopping at the side of the desk. She rests her palms flat on one of the few open spaces. “What’s the word?”

“We’re ready to depart,” Lysch says, checking a datapad. “Is there anything else you need us to do?”

“No.” Marr shakes his head. “Vowrawn is your sole priority. Bring him back with all due haste.”

Kryn pushes herself away from the desk and throws her arms around Rafana, and then Lysch. She takes a step back and solemnly regards both of them. “Stay safe, all right?”

“That's not really part of the mission parameters,” Lysch says, out of habit, before she returns Kryn’s hug. 

“Go get some sleep,” Rafana says gently. “I heard about what happened on the _Adamant_. Being back in your own bed will help.”

Kryn nods. “Once I'm done here. Can't leave things undone.”

The door closes behind the two women, and silence descends on Marr’s office. He rises, circling the desk to Kryn’s side. “What happened on the _Adamant_?”

She shakes her head, taking a minute step away from him. “Nothing of import. Every Force user was affected by Ziost’s destruction. It just hit me a little harder, that's all.” She looks down, stacking and restacking the datapads on his desk with trembling hands, bottom lip caught between her teeth. “No need to worry about it.”

She’s reticent and withdrawn, downplaying the incident. More than that, she’s creating space between them, and he stops himself from reaching for her. “But what if I want to worry about it? Your well-being is important, Kryn, and you’ve had a lot on your shoulders over the last two weeks.”

“Don’t.” She steps back from the desk, gives him an overly casual shrug when she realizes how snappish she sounds. “I’m sorry, I’m … I’m tired. It's nothing to concern yourself with, Marr, I promise.”

Again with his title, not his name. He takes extra care to hide his consternation, though he does close the space between them and rests his hand on her shoulder. “Will you let me decide that?”

“No.” She gives him a look that's almost apologetic. 

He briefly considers arguing the point, but doesn’t want to push her away any more than he already has. He still hasn’t decided what to say when her shoulders sag, and she sighs. “If I’m not needed for anything else, can you take me home? I don’t even know where my speeder is at this point.”

“It’s at your house. I picked it up from the spaceport when it was clear your trip was going to be longer than planned.” He offers his arm, though he doesn’t expect her to take it.

She waves him away. “I’m fine. I just need some sleep. Some actual sleep, in my own bed.”

[4]  
Kryn maintains her stubborn independence until they’re in the speeder, but as soon as they’re out of the parking garage and bound for her house, she slumps against Marr's shoulder, drawing a shuddering breath. Unasked questions pile up in the silence, but he knows if he asks any of them she’ll simply retreat further. 

They arrive on her landing platform in short order; he nudges her when it’s clear she’s not getting out of the speeder.

She bolts upward, a look of near panic on her face. “Oh!” She gets her bearings and heaves a sigh of relief. “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep.”

He raises an eyebrow behind his mask. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Umm.” Kryn thinks back. “I … think I had some rations right before we landed? Yes, Talos insisted. He asked me the same question and I couldn’t remember. He was quite cross with me.”

“That was hours ago.” Marr gets out of the speeder and comes around to her side, opening her door. He extends a hand to help her out. “You come inside and put on some pajamas, and I’ll make you some dinner.” He pauses. “Well, I guess it’s a little late, or early, for dinner. Breakfast? Just enough to take the edge off so you sleep better.”

She takes his hand and allows him to pull her out of the speeder before she takes her hand back. “It's fine.”

He folds his arms and stares at her.

“I can tell what face you’re making even without being able to see it,” she grouses. “I’ll make some toast or something before I lay down.”

“We both know cooking isn't your strongest suit. I can -”

She turns sharply, looking out over the cityscape as she folds her arms across her chest. “No.” The single syllable is brusque. 

His voice is gentle. “Kryn, you know I can tell something’s wrong.” The only response is rain pattering on durasteel, and finally, he sighs. “I won’t push it.”

“Thank -”

He holds up a finger. “This time. This is contingent on you agreeing to talk to me at some point in the near future, Kryn.”

“I promise.” She almost sounds sincere. “I just need to process some things.”

He turns her to face him, brushes a thumb across the corner of her mouth. “May I …?”

For the first time, real pain flickers across her features, and her answer is barely audible. “No. Not yet.”

He drops his hand, carefully concealing his disappointment, unwilling to add guilt on top of whatever it is she won’t talk about. “I understand.” It takes monumental effort to not touch her again, to reassure himself that she’s actually back. “Do you want me to come by after work?”

“No need,” she says, too casually, too quickly. “Hopefully I’ll still be asleep. But I’ll be coming in tomorrow, so I’ll see you then, yes?”

“Of course." He makes a small shooing motion. "Go get some rest.”

She manages a wan smile. “I will.” 

He waits in the speeder, engine idling, until she’s inside.


	24. Partiality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks have passed since Kryn returned, and despite her promise, she has made no move to come talk to Marr. He decides he's waited quite long enough and seeks her out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But all that touches us, you and me,  
> Binds us together like the stroke of a bow  
> That draws one chord from two strings.  
> ~Rainer Maria Rilke, _Liebeslied_

[1]  
It’s been two weeks since Kryn returned from Ziost.

She’s been at the Citadel each day: providing reports to every group imaginable regarding what happened, helping with the emergency restructuring of the Ministry of Logistics, fighting for the survival of the Empire. When she's not in meetings she's in conference holocalls. Her Second, Senna, recalled from her time in the field, nervously yet resolutely informs Marr that "Darth Nox has commanded she not be interrupted, but asked that I tell you that she will contact you as soon as she is able." 

Every evening, she is gone by the time he’s finally done with the endless reports, the endless meetings, the endless chorus of _my lord just one more thing._

She still hasn’t come to talk to him, but he's decided he's not going to wait any longer. 

He understands the ideological imperative to never show weakness. He also understands that Ziost was something beyond what any living Sith has ever encountered. He shuts his office door behind him and stops at Bryasere's desk. “Hold all messages until I return. I will not countenance any interruptions to the business I'm conducting.”

“Yes, my lord.” She gives him a look that’s almost sly. “If someone asks where you are, what should I tell them?”

“You will inform them, in case they have forgotten, that they do not outrank me, and that I will contact them at my leisure.”

Bryasere bows her head. “As you command.”

Kryn has never had the veritable army that most other Councilors have; her section of the building is even more empty now that her still-secret project on Yavin Four is underway. To his surprise, Senna's desk is blessedly vacant and Marr slips into Kryn's office unnoticed. 

She looks up from a datapad when he appears in her doorway, her tone remote and professional. “Darth Marr. Did you need something?”

His brows draw together at both her voice and her manner of address, and he covers the considerable distance between the door and her desk with long strides, pushing his hood back and removing his mask. “Kryn. You can’t go through this alone.”

She turns a pen over in her hands and doesn’t look up when she speaks, her words monotone. “Of course I can. I -” Stopping, she tries again. “It was … I just need time.” She looks back down at her datapad. “You don’t understand.” 

“Then _make_ me understand,” he says, nearly pleading. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I … “ Trailing off, she sighs, then changes the subject. “There’s so much we have to do. We're waiting on Lysch to return with Vowrawn, we have -”

He touches her shoulder. “We will persevere. It is imperative that our people have a stable, steady government, and no one can possibly argue now that Vitiate is in any way the head of the Empire.“ He holds out his hand; when she takes it, he pulls her to her feet. “But I didn't come to discuss business. I’ve let you sit in solitude long enough. Come over tonight?”

She looks back down at her desk, which is covered in reports and datapads and notes, and bites the inside of her cheek, clearly looking for an excuse. “I -”

He captures her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts her head up, the pad of his thumb grazing her lower lip. He loves the curve and swell of her mouth, loves how it twists with amusement at the slightest provocation, loves how it softens when she looks at him. “Please?”

“I seem to remember you telling me once that please wouldn’t get _me_ anywhere.” The corner of her mouth twitches.

That bare hint of a smile is more than he’s seen since she got back, and he can’t help but return it. “I simply wish to impress upon you how important this is.”

She reaches up and cups his face with her free hand. Her voice is barely a whisper when she finally speaks. “Thank you, Matthius.”

“Of course, Kryn.” He leans down and brushes his lips across her cheek. It's a simple gesture, yet the most she's allowed in the past two weeks. “I’ll see you tonight.”

\--

As he's come to expect, he gets home later than he planned. She isn't there, but a message arrives just as he steps inside.

 _M,_  
_Staying in tonight, I think. Maybe another evening?_  
_K_

His face twists as he reads it, and he hurls his datapad at a chair in frustration before he turns back toward the door. "No, Kryn. Not this time."

[2]  
Andronikos has just settled back onto the couch with Ashara and Talos, bucket of popcorn on his lap, when there are three forceful, deliberate knocks on the balcony door.

Ashara stands. “I’ll get it.” It’s quiet as she disappears through the door, and then Andronikos sees her take a step back and bow. “My lord! Darth Nox didn’t inform us you were coming by.”

His voice is a low rumble, icy anger tempered by a note of resignation. “No, I imagine she didn’t. But this visit will come as no surprise to her.”

Ashara considers her options. “Shall I go get her for you?”

“I’m quite capable of finding her. Go back to whatever you were doing.”

Everyone pretends to watch the movie as Marr storms across the room. He doesn’t bother to shut the door to Kryn’s living quarters behind him. “Nox.” It's a struggle to keep his voice neutral, to keep the frustration and hurt out of it. “I thought you were coming by this evening.”

She’s curled up on her settee, watching the rain slide down the large windows, and starts when he speaks. “Yes, well, I changed my mind,” she says blandly. “Did you not get my message?”

“I got it.” He folds his arms. “Why do you think I’m here?”

She hasn't moved from her seat. “I’m sure I don't know. Why _are_ you here? Other than being unwilling to respect my wishes, that is."

Andronikos doesn’t even have to turn around to know she’s got that stubborn look, the one where her jaw tightens and her brows draw together. “Not helping, Sith,” he mutters under his breath.

"Unwilling to respect your - you can't be serious!" Marr snaps. "I've been respecting your wish to be left utterly alone since you returned! I've let your little gatekeeper run me off, communicated with you almost exclusively in writing, watched you turn into a veritable hermit!"

“Should we … I don’t know, intervene?” Ashara asks, twisting her skirt around a finger. “It sounds bad.”

“Are you kidding?” Andronikos scoffs. “Ain’t enough credits in the entire galaxy to make me get between two Sith lords duking it out, let alone two Dark Councilors, and _especially_ not Nox and Marr. If you’re smart, kid, you’ll leave it alone.” He puts his feet back up on the table and unpauses the movie. They all turn to the screen, pretending to watch, but no one says anything when he lowers the volume so much they can hardly hear it.

“You know,” Kryn snarls, “why don’t you just tell me what your problem is, Darth Marr?”

"Again with the formality!" He futilely tries to calm the rising tide of anger, almost impressed at how easily she can needle him. “We are - this is supposed to be an alliance! That means we work _together._ ” A note of disappointment slips in. “And you told me you’d come talk to me, Kryn.”

She can’t hold back a bark of mirthless laughter. “So your real problem is that I’m not including you in my mental fallout? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say.” She holds up a hand. “No, it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard a Sith say, and that is saying a lot!”

He takes a deep breath. “I -”

“I’m not finished!” She stands and steps into his personal space, so close they’re almost touching. “Why would it even matter to you? No matter what else happens, no matter what we are to each other, we are still Sith! So why are you here, yelling at me because I’m behaving like a Sith?”

He slams his fist into the tall side table next to the door. “The planet _died_ , Kryn! I thought -” He stops abruptly.

“You thought what?”

“Never mind what I thought. We felt Ziost _here_ , and you were there when it happened!” 

Genuine fury ignites in her voice. “You think I’m unaware of this fact? You think maybe I missed it? Vitiate saw fit to toy with my mind the entire time it was happening!”

He’s briefly at a loss for words. “These are the kinds of things I’d think you’d tell me!”

“You understand I see through the Force, yes?” She swallows a sob. “A single tidal wave of malevolence, so great that I fell unconscious, and Ziost ceased to exist for me at all! Erased from my reality, permanently.” She folds her arms; they bump against his chest. “Death isn’t much of a solace when it happens on a scale of that magnitude."

He opens his mouth; she flicks a hand, waving him to silence. "But I wasn't spared, oh no. Vitiate spent the entire time showing me all of my worst and my most deeply buried fears. They were so vivid that they’re only a hairsbreadth away from actual memories!”

“Kryn -”

“Not done!” She forges on, hating the way her hands are trembling. “It feels like my soul is shriveled and dying, like it’s seeing the end of everything - you, my sisters, the Empire, me, everything! - and knowing for a certainty I cannot do a thing to prevent it. And here you are, bellowing at me because I'm not talking to you enough!”

She takes a step back and paces, talking more to herself than to him. "I have to stop it. I have to. There is no option for failure. If I fail … no, I _can’t_ fail.” 

An abrupt halt, a sharp turn, and she’s toe to toe with him again, defiance written on her features. “So pardon me for being more focused on that than on passing the time with idle conversation about my bad dreams!"

“You should have told me about this!” he growls in frustration, the words forced between gritted teeth. "You can't do everything alone! Stop acting like an obstinate kath hound and let me help!"

“Give me one reason why!” Her voice cracks on the last word, and she looks away. “Why are you being so bullheaded?”

Armor falls to the floor with a clank, his response unmodulated and nearly a roar, the words out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Because I _love_ you, you stubborn woman! Why are you making that so fucking _difficult_?” 

Kryn’s mouth falls open. 

A stunned silence blankets the apartment.

“Well, about time one of them said it,” Andronikos mutters, shaking his head. “Took them long enough.”

Ashara turns in her seat to peek over the back of the couch, face alight with excitement. “I think he took his mask off, you guys.” She’s quiet for a beat as what he said registers. “You knew about this, Andronikos?”

He nods, nonchalant. “I’ve known for awhile that Marr’s the Sith she’s been seeing, yeah.”

“ _He’s_ Darth Aphotic?” Talos can only manage a shocked whisper.

Ashara grins, eyes riveted on Kryn’s room. “Now I definitely have to see what happens!”

Talos shakes his head. “I’d like to point out that we have two Sith in a very -” he stops to consider his words, “ _vulnerable_ situation, and the longer we stay, the more of a liability we become. Might I suggest we abandon our movie and go out to dinner?”

Andronikos stands, catching Ashara’s arm as he does so. “Come on, kiddo. I’m sure we’ll hear about it later.” They whisk a muffled and protesting Ashara out of the room, leaving the apartment deserted but for Kryn and Marr, regarding each other in silence. 

Kryn snaps her mouth shut. “You _what_?”

“You heard me.” Marr chuckles ruefully, running a hand over the stubble on his face. Shouting it at her during an argument is not how he'd planned on telling her. “At least we weren’t outside or half of Dromund Kaas would likely have heard me.”

Her brow furrows. "You _love_ me?" she asks, as yet unconvinced.

"For some time now, yes." His lip twitches, the only outward disturbance of his serious demeanor. 

There’s a long pause before she speaks again. When she does there’s a bit of her old amusement in her voice. “I'm no expert in these matters, but I don't think,” and here she can’t suppress a widening smile, “ _I love you_ is supposed to sound like _I want to throw you off your balcony_ when you say it to someone."

He shrugs. “Well, sometimes I do want to throw you off your balcony. It would pain me greatly, and I would probably toss you a parachute -”

“Probably?” Kryn’s lower lip pokes out. 

He pretends to consider. “All right, fine. I would most likely toss you a parachute. After all, things would be far too quiet if you were gone.” Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “It would be immensely satisfying, though, at least for a moment."

“So ….” She falls silent, focusing on the sunburst of warmth in her chest in an effort to ignore how her heart has lodged itself in her throat. “You love me.” It’s no longer a question.

“Yes. I know you have your sisters, and your crew.” Marr pulls off his gauntlets, deposits them on the table, and takes her hands. “But I was the one who sent you to Ziost. I was the one who asked you to complete that mission alone.”

She shakes her head. “You know I agreed with your assessment, and told you as much. Don’t feel guilty about that.”

“I don’t feel guilty,” he says candidly. “The mission had to be accomplished, and you were the best person to send, as you so often are. But just as I was instrumental in wielding you as a weapon of the Empire, I would be your foundation in the aftermath, if you’ll have me.” He studies her face; when he continues, he is uncharacteristically hesitant. “I can’t stand by and watch you suffer any longer, Kryn. Please don’t ask me to.”

“I won't. I'm sorry,” she murmurs, swiftly sobering, her mouth pulling down at the corners. “And I owe you an explanation. I've … spent quite a lot of time and energy insisting that we’re just having fun, that this isn't serious. I’ve done so even in the face of all evidence to the contrary. I have a vague memory, hazy with far too much alcohol, of my sisters prying my feelings out of me; I couched them in vehement denials. There are clearer memories of half-sentences, halted before I gave away too much of myself.”

She takes a deep breath, tracing abstract designs on the back of his hand, her skin cool against his. “But then Vitiate dropped me into a series of nightmares, cleverly crafted ones that felt torturously real.” She falls silent, long enough that he begins to wonder if she’s going to continue.

“The first one was you.”

His eyes widen. “Me?”

“You.” Kryn’s words are slow, unwillingly dragged to light. “I knew I couldn’t be home, but I _wanted_ to be, wanted it so badly that I just accepted what I was seeing. And then you were there. You told me I'd failed you. You told me I should have stayed a slave. And … and you walked away.”

He holds her hands tighter when they start shaking, pulling them to his chest. “Kryn, if you don’t want to -”

She shakes her head hard one time; red locks escape from their pins and fall around her face. “No. I _have_ to. I’ve wondered, since then, if I'd told you … if I'd said something before, if I'd accepted how I felt instead of running away from it, if he would have had so much control over me.” Her voice is nearly inaudible. “So much of an effect on me that just seeing you brought it all back and sent me running again.”

An edge of anger, hard and bright, creeps into her tone. “My newest memory is the clearest, and it’s razor sharp. It’s Vitiate using Zal’s face, Zal’s voice, to call me a coward. I hate that memory, false as it is, because he was right. I’ve been a coward, scared of _what if_ and possibilities and change.” 

Even now she can feel pinpricks of fear down her spine, can feel the impulse to just crack a joke growing larger and her breath growing shorter. 

If she doesn't get through this now, it will control her forever. 

She swallows hard and wrenches her gaze from their joined hands to his face. “Matthius … I suppose I ought to confess.”

He raises an eyebrow at her choice of words. “This won't be like last time, will it?” The last time she’d confessed something to him, he'd come closer to killing her than he wants to remember.

“What? No!” A startled laugh explodes out of her, and a little of the tension eases from her shoulders. “No, not at all.” She bites her lip, steeling herself. “Despite all my protestations to the contrary, and all my proclamations of how we are not serious, I … I love you." A wry smile spreads across her face. “More than is reasonable, really, since you were only supposed to be diversionary entertainment.”

He grins at her. “I’ve never been so pleased to have failed at something.” He skims the swell of her lower lip with his thumb. “May I?”

She lifts her chin, her imperious expression ruined by her cheeky smirk. “You should certainly start. You have two weeks to make up for, don't you?”

“Indeed.” Marr bends his head as Kryn goes up on her tiptoes, pausing just before his mouth brushes hers. “I love you.”

She sighs, light as a zephyr. “You make it sound so easy.”

“I have a secret.” He drops an unhurried kiss on the left corner of her mouth. “I practiced.” Another on the right corner. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for weeks; it just didn't happen before you left.”

“I suppose that’s what I’ll have to do, then,” she says, threading her fingers into his hair. “I love you.” She reins in her smile enough to kiss him full on the mouth, slow and sweet as honey, and for a moment, there’s just the two of them, unburdened by nightmares and obligations and secrets.

“Easier that time?” he asks, slightly breathless as they pull apart.

Her face settles into the same thoughtful expression she wears when she's researching. “Hmm. Possibly. I'll have to try it again sometime to really be sure.” She gives him a roguish look. “So when I got home from Ziost, I foolishly turned down your offer of breakfast. Can I take you up on it now?”

He throws his head back and laughs, full throated and unrestrained. “Only if we can go back to my house. You don’t have half the ingredients I need, and I’d prefer not to cook in armor.”

“Sleeping over at your house? Oh, very well,” she says lightly, running a finger along his jawline. “You’ve twisted my arm. Let me toss a few things in a bag.” There’s a somber pause, and her face falls. “I should probably warn you I don’t sleep very well these days.”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “We’ll do what we must to ameliorate that problem if it happens.”

“If you’re sure,” she says, though she still sounds dubious. “Don’t forget your armor.” 

He leans forward and kisses her forehead, then puts his armor back on while she packs. “Ready?”

“Starving.” She loops an arm around his. “Let’s go.”


	25. Of Emperors and Empires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darth Vowrawn is found and returns to the capital. An emergency Council meeting is called. An old score is settled and an alliance is struck.

[1]  
“Makeb, really? This is where he's been hiding out?” Rafana makes no attempt to hide her skepticism as they make their way between mesas. “Are you sure, Lysch?”

“This is what his coordinates said. Who's going to think to look here? The only people left here are the Imperial teams; everyone else thinks it's a desolate wreck.” Lysch sets their shuttle down on the landing pad. “It’s a building here in Talarm.” 

They disembark, looking around. Talarm Estates is deathly quiet, far removed from the last of the mining operations; Rafana draws her weapon as Lysch checks her map, then looks up and points. “That way. Maybe a ten minute walk from here.”

They stop in front of a house nestled on the edge of a wide green expanse. Rafana stealths to check the perimeter while Lysch bangs on the door. It opens, revealing a genial-looking Sith, his gold facial jewelry glinting in the sunlight. 

“My dear Wrath, how good it is to see you again.” Vowrawn might well have been greeting them in his private salon, given his manners.

Rafana decloaks as she rounds the corner, surprised to see Lysch almost smiling. “Vowrawn. You certainly don’t look worse for wear. Then again, you have been vacationing on Makeb.”

He laughs. “I’ve only recently arrived, but I am more than ready to go home.” He pauses, sorrow in his eyes. “I heard about Ziost, even out here. How have things been going?”

Lysch shakes her head. “Darth Marr and Darth Nox have been spearheading the campaign to get the Ministry of Logistics up and running again, and Nox sent us after you the morning we returned to Dromund Kaas,” she says. “They’re putting together an alliance and seek your support.”

“And they shall have it,” he says instantly. “Let us return to the capital immediately. I just need to pack. Give me a moment.”

As he disappears back into the house, Lysch jerks her head toward the courtyard. “I’m going to stand guard. Rafana, come with me. Stay stealthed, please.”

Rafana eyes her curiously. “As you say, sister, but why?”

“You’ll see. Set up where you’ll have the best vantage point of all routes of approach.”

Rafana nods, disappearing from view.

Lysch hasn’t been pacing for five minutes before a man appears: the Servant she spoke to on Rishi. Her expression doesn’t change, though she comes to a stop and faces him. “I knew you’d come.”

“The _former_ Wrath,” the man spits. “The traitor. You led us right to Vowrawn.”

“If I am a traitor to our _former_ Emperor,” Lysch says icily, “then I am a better person for it. I don’t care about your insane master. I care about the Empire, and you do not. Did you think I broadcast those coordinates on accident?” Her lips curl in a feral smile. “You pretend at power, pretend you know everything, when you couldn’t find a single Councilor for nearly a year. Now that you’ve found him, what are you going to do?”

Servant One is unfazed. “We are going to take him, as is our prerogative. And you will allow us, because you answer to us.”

Her lightsabers are in her hands in the blink of an eye. “I answer to no one,” she snarls. “Least of all you.” The three sabers cross in a _pop-hssst_ of crimson. “I let you live on Rishi. I see that was a mistake.”

He knocks Lysch off balance and tosses her away. “Your arrogance does you no credit,” he shouts, pursuing her. “You think you can kill us? We are immortal, just as his last Wrath was. As you could have been if you’d served faithfully!” His saber comes down, blocked by Lysch at the last moment. 

Hidden on the rooftop, Rafana raises her eyebrow and adjusts her rifle. _If they’re immortal_ , she thinks, _better to capture him to get information about any others_. Something on the edge of her vision catches her eye and draws her attention away from the confrontation raging below her.

Another man. Stealthed. Creeping toward Lysch while she’s distracted.

Rafana lines up her shot and takes a deep breath, sighting in on the second man. Everything stills as she releases the breath. Her shot rings out, whizzing past Lysch, and the stealthed man collapses, knocked unconscious by a prototype concussion bolt.

Lysch takes the opportunity to smash Servant One in the temple with her lightsaber hilt, shoving him off of her when he collapses. She gets to her feet and dusts grass off her black armor, then looks upward. “Good. That’s two down. Let’s bind them; we’ll bring them back with us.”

Vowrawn appears in the doorway, two bags in hand, and watches Rafana finish binding the two men. “It seems I missed all the excitement, but you are crafty as ever, Wrath, as is your companion.” He laughs. “Perhaps I should have simply placed myself under your protection on Rishi and saved myself time and travel.”

“And cut short your lovely vacation? I wouldn’t hear of it.” Lysch points at the speeder parked next to the house. “We can all fit. Let’s get underway. It's nearly a week trip back to the capital; we must get underway as soon as possible.”

[2]  
The fourth and final movement of the Vincere symphony has always been Marr's favorite, with its triumphant rise out of the bleakness of the third. It is singing of strength and perseverance when she comes to him, her arm bumping his as he contemplates his galaxy map. “Matthius?”

“Kryn.” Troop movements immediately set aside, he sweeps strands of crimson back behind her ear. “Are you all right? I thought you were taking a nap. Last night was a bad one."

“I was, and I'm fine.” She laces her fingers with his, pulling him toward the stairs. “But I would be better if you were upstairs in bed with me, instead of down here glowering at your maps." 

He raises an eyebrow at the flirtatiousness in her voice, turning her back to face him. Ziost left her vulnerable in ways neither of them had anticipated, and he's been careful to follow her lead, content that she’s home and healing, slowly but surely. “Are you sure? You're not just pretending at normalcy on my account?”

She reaches up and cups his face, pulling him down for a kiss. She’d meant to say more, but the simple kiss is suddenly much more, long-neglected tinder struck by summer lightning, and the next thing she knows he's lifted her up and backed them into the wall as she wraps her legs around his waist. 

He hasn't realized until now just how much he's missed this, missed her breathless and flushed with desire, missed her melting into him, but no matter how badly he wants her - and he does, enough that his hands are shaking with the force of it - he won't demand more than she's willing to give. 

“If you're not completely sure,” he says, his words mingling with his insistent kisses on her mouth, her jawline, her cheeks, “then you need to tell me.” 

She twines an arm around his neck and leans close to his ear to answer. “I'm sure that I've never been more sure of anything in my life.” She’s short of breath, her voice raspy. “It's been six long, incredibly busy weeks, and I've missed you.” 

“Your nightmares, though -”

“My nightmares can go hang,” she says, vehement. “I'm _tired_ of missing you, Matthius.”

His groan lands somewhere between relief and need as he kisses her again. “Upstairs?” 

“Mm-hmm,” muffled against his neck, her mouth warm and wet as she threads her fingers into his hair, and they're most of the way up the stairs when somewhere on the desk, a holocom chimes. 

He looks toward it out of habit, and she lays a hand along the side of his face to pull him back to her. “No,” she growls, planting her mouth fully on his in a bruising kiss. “That is not happening right now. Absolutely not. Don't even look at it.”

“You know we have to answer it,” he murmurs against the curve of her neck, tongue and teeth teasing the delicate skin. “It could be important.”

Kryn can hardly catch her breath, so focused is she on the heat in her veins and the heat of his skin, so much warmth after too long a chill. “No, we don't. Be irresponsible, just this once.” 

“We can't be irresponsible, Kryn. Not now.” He nips at her collarbone, watching her hair ripple as her head falls backward. “It's one of yours.” 

He hasn't stopped, she notices, his hands finding their way under her shirt and cupping her breasts as she searches for words for a response, and he doesn't sound as certain as he usually does. 

“Of course it’s one of mine. It's one of my sisters. Can't they call on the damn comlink? I ought to just answer like this.” She rolls her hips against his, her faint moan barely audible. “That'll teach them.”

“Do you want me to put you down?” He doesn't want her to say yes, is in fact almost hoping she insists on continuing; this might be the one time she’ll be able to talk him into shirking his duties, at least for a time.

“I _want_ you to take me upstairs and take me,” and she smirks at her wit even through her annoyance, “but I guess I’m not going to get what I want. Put me down and I'll answer the damn thing.”

He opts instead to carry her back down the stairs and over to the desk, setting her on the flat surface. He slides a finger under her chin and tilts her head up, then kisses her again before withdrawing to the couch to observe from a distance. 

She snatches the black and silver holocom with a huff. “I'm going to give whoever this is a piece of my mind,” she snaps before she punches the button on the holocom. “Whaaaat?” She draws the word out far longer than necessary, not bothering to disguise her irritation.

“Darth Nox, what a pleasure it is to see you again!” Vowrawn says, cheerful as always. “I do hope I’m not inconveniencing you.”

Kryn can’t quite wipe the scowl off her face even as she wrangles her voice into a much more polite tone. “No, not at all, Darth Vowrawn. Pardon my brusque greeting; I'd thought you were someone else.”

“Someone else?” Puzzlement settles on his features. “Oh, yes! The agent you sent told me to use her holocom in case mine was still being traced.”

“I'm sure she did. What a quick thinker that Rafana is,” Kryn grumbles, silently reminding herself to not throw the holocom at Marr, who looks more amused than she thinks he has any right to, one hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. “Are you nearly to Dromund Kaas?”

Vowrawn nods. “We should be at the spaceport within the hour. You’ll want to meet us there, Nox, or so the Wrath tells me.”

Marr is already halfway up the stairs as Kryn nods. “Very well. We’ll see you shortly.”

She disconnects and hustles after him. “Didn't even leave us enough time to finish what we were -” She stops as she rounds the corner, a low whine escaping her as she finds him naked in front of his closet, pulling out a tight-fitting undershirt and trousers. “Did you do this on purpose? I didn't think you were so cruel.”

“No, but the accidental timing is excellent.” One eyebrow arches upward. “Are you saying you'd rather not find me naked in the bedroom?”

“Damn you,” she mutters, stomping over to her armor. 

“Kryn.” He holds out his hand, waiting until she crosses the room and grudgingly takes it. “I'll make it up to you later,” he murmurs in her ear. “I promise.”

She shivers, and it takes all of her willpower to not kiss him again, but she knows if she starts she won't stop. “I'm holding you to that.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss, nearly chaste but for how long he lingers, to her forehead, then steps back, his tone all business. “Let's go. Vowrawn returning is excellent news. We've been in a holding pattern for too long.”

[3]  
“Leave us.”

Kryn’s command echoes through the hangar, and the attendants are quick to obey, hastily disappearing into the spaceport as Vowrawn strolls down the ramp of the _Merciless_.

“It’s good to see you, Marr, Nox,” he says. “Pity it isn’t under better circumstances.” 

“Darth Nox, a word?” Lysch strides down the boarding ramp. “I have information you’ll be interested in.”

“Of course.” Kryn slips past the two men. “What’s going on?”

Lysch folds her arms, face settling into its natural scowl. “We captured two of the Hand.”

“You what?” A wide grin lights Kryn’s face. “How interesting! What are you planning on doing with them?”

“One told Lysch that they’re immortal, like Scourge,” Rafana adds, joining them. “We thought they might aid in your research.”

“They _are_?” Kryn exclaims, drawing the attention of Vowrawn and Marr. 

“Research?” Marr asks, looking at the three women, pausing with holocom in hand. “Is _that_ what you’re doing on Yavin Four?”

“Yes.” She doesn't elaborate, too focused on considering possibilities. 

He sighs. “Still not telling me anything else about it?”

A soft smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. “I will later, I promise. Go back to what you were doing.” 

He shakes his head and turns back to Vowrawn. “I’m going to assemble the Council.”

Kryn tunes him out. “And if the Hand had the same process done to them that was done to Scourge ….” She trails off. “This could accelerate my research immeasurably! I haven’t wanted to push things too far with Scourge. I have no such compunctions regarding your prisoners. Would you be willing to escort them to Yavin Four? I can safely hold them there.”

“We can do that. And I’ll leave Broonmark and Jaesa as guards, as well,” Lysch says. “I’m sure you’ve got your facility locked down, but I don’t know the lengths the others will go to to rescue their fellows.” 

Lysch regards the three Councilors. “What’s your plan?” She waves a dismissive hand at Kryn. “I mean, not that _you_ have one because you never have a plan. What’s your alliance’s plan?”

“A Council meeting has been called,” Marr interjects before Kryn can loose the insulting remark she’s clearly getting ready to say. “We need to return to the Citadel with all due haste.”

Kryn raises an eyebrow. “There you go,” she says to Lysch. “The plan is to have a meeting. The plan is always _have a meeting_. We love our meetings. Meetings make the Empire go round, dearest Wrath.”

“As I recall,” Marr says, each word clipped, “ _you’ve_ been the one insistent on taking this alliance public, have you not?”

Kryn shakes her head, and her tone turns teasing. “Of course. I think it’s past time we get this over with, but you hate meetings as much as I do. No point in getting all grouchy now.”

Vowrawn looks from Marr to Kryn and back, trying rather unsuccessfully to rein in a smirk. “I see your addition to the Council has settled quite easily into her role. Met your match, have you, Marr?”

“We simply have … differing philosophies on how to approach problems,” Marr says, ignoring a grinning Kryn. “However, her unorthodox background and approach haven’t proved to be a hindrance, and will likely be even more of an asset moving forward.”

“High praise indeed, coming from you.” Vowrawn smiles. “I’m certainly looking forward to working with you, Nox.”

“Well, I do try to be as unorthodox as possible.” Kryn sounds even more flippant than usual. “I can only handle so much dullness in these Council proceedings before I fall asleep.” She leans in as though she’s going to share a secret. “Falling asleep in Council meetings gets you in trouble, by the way.” She shoots a dirty look at Marr. “Even though it was only one time.”

“If you two are ready,” Marr says, and Kryn can tell it’s through clenched teeth, “we ought to get to the Citadel as quickly as possible.”

[4]  
The lift makes its way down toward the Council chamber. “So what’s your plan, Marr?” Kryn asks, tired of the silence.

“I’ll announce our intentions and ask for supporters.” Marr sounds unconcerned. 

“And those that don’t support it?” Vowrawn says. “You know some won’t.”

“We’ll deal with that as it comes.” He thinks for a moment. “I’m reasonably sure Mortis will join us. The four of us alone are formidable, though I’d prefer a majority.”

Vowrawn looks thoughtful. “Who’s taken the Sphere of Biotic Science? Acharon was killed on Corellia, and if this ends up a protracted fight, that sphere would be immensely helpful.”

Marr shakes his head. “No replacement yet, but I have a nomination. We’ll worry about that after we know where everyone stands.”

The lift doors open. 

Kryn, the first to exit, takes a deep breath as she steps into the hallway, irked at the fluttering sensation in her stomach. “Here we go,” she murmurs, mostly to herself, as she flexes her fingers.

Marr falls into step beside her, his hand brushing her arm just for a moment. It could have been an accident but for its deliberate tenderness, and the way Kryn’s fingers skim across his gauntlet in return, swift and light.

Vowrawn, behind them, watches this quiet exchange with great curiosity.

Kryn draws herself up to her full height, jaw set stubbornly. “We’ve been talking about this for months. It’ll be fine.” She wags a finger at Marr. “But if someone starts something this time, I’m finishing it.” They stop in front of the closed chamber door, and she sets her hands on her hips, tilting her head up to regard him steadily. “No more skulking around after this.” A smile plays on the corner of her mouth. “Better summon that intestinal fortitude you mentioned awhile back.”

Vowrawn clears his throat. “Marr, a word before we go in?”

Kryn lifts her hand to the entry panel. “I’ll see you inside, gentlemen.”

The door has barely closed behind her when Vowrawn speaks. “This alliance you have with Nox is purely political, you say?” 

Marr silently thanks years of practice in keeping emotion out of his voice. “What else would it be?”

Vowrawn gives Marr a knowing look. “My friend, how long have we known each other? Decades now, yes?” Mischief flashes in his eyes. “I seem to remember her working your last nerve on a regular basis. I must have been away longer than I thought, or Nox has powers of persuasion heretofore unknown in the annals of the Sith, to coax such reactions from you now.” 

“Vowrawn.” A thread of warning runs through Marr’s voice.

Vowrawn holds up his hands, though he can’t quite iron all the amusement out of his conciliatory words. “If you’re claiming it’s merely business, far be it from me to assume otherwise ... no matter what evidence might be in front of me.”

“Good.” Marr turns and briskly slaps the door panel, then looks back. “We have more important matters to attend to than your sudden interest in my private affairs.”

Vowrawn opens his mouth to remark on Marr’s word choice, but swiftly closes it when he can feel Marr glaring at him. “You can hardly blame me,” he says, unruffled and smiling. “I was simply unaware you were even the type to have private affairs.” He offers a courtly bow. “After you.”

Marr strides into the Council chamber, waiting silently in the center of the cavernous room as Vowrawn takes his seat.

“I will eschew the customary business this afternoon,” he says, hands clasped behind his back. “Vowrawn’s return represents a turning point for this governing body. The longer we wait to solve this, the more unstable our Empire becomes. 

“We can no longer pretend our former Emperor has any vested interest in ruling his people.”

He waits for the murmurs to quiet before he continues. “We all know he has been silent for years, that we have been governing the Empire, yet still we paid obeisance to a being who has now outright attacked us. Our losses on Ziost were catastrophic, greater than any the Republic has inflicted upon us. Were it not for redundant data saved here at the Citadel, our economy might have utterly collapsed. Even so, our people are frightened, looking to us for leadership.”

Kryn watches him, her carefully neutral expression belying the sparks in her chest and her pounding pulse.

“No longer can the Empire stand on the backs of subjugated peoples. No longer can we alienate potential allies. No longer can we Sith, the pinnacle of our society, be distracted by petty power plays and murderous schemes with nothing to show for it. Therefore, I propose a new alliance, a new regime, one that will move forward in unity of purpose, rather than obedience to an unseen and uncaring master.

“Who will stand with me?”

Vowrawn, Mortis, and Kryn are the first out of their seats, almost before Marr finishes speaking. 

Vowrawn is first to speak, standing with his head high and his shoulders back. “I will,” he says solemnly. “You have always put the Empire first, Marr. I see no reason why you would stop doing so now, and thus no reason why I, and my sphere, should not join you.”

Mortis is right behind him. “You have my support, as well, Marr, and that of my sphere.”

“You know you have mine, Darth Marr.” Kryn is the last of the trio to speak.

“Of course _you_ would, Nox,” Ravage sneers. “Of course someone like you would follow someone who sounds like Malgus the Betrayer, someone who professes to love the Empire but grinds our ideals under his boot heel!”

Kryn’s fingers slide over her lightsaber hilt as she turns to regard Ravage. “Are you so petty, so threatened by others, that you cannot even see past your hatred of me to why this will be _good_ for the Empire?”

His eyes drop to watch her movements. “You said you wouldn't need that.”

“Oh, are we doing this now, then?” A savage grin twists her features. “I'll let you choose if today is the day you die.”

In an instant, Ravage is out of his seat, leaping to the center of the room. “Killing you will be the hallmark of my year, Nox. I will savor this victory for a month.”

“The only thing I'll notice when you're gone is a distinct lack of braying in Council meetings.” Kryn unhooks her lightsaber and flings it toward Marr. “Hold this for me, if you please? I promised Ravage I'd kill him without it, and I'd hate to disappoint.”

Marr smoothly catches it, nods, and clips it next to his own.

“Are you really going to let them slaughter each other in the Council chamber, Marr?” Darth Aruk asks, his hologram shimmering.

Marr doesn't answer until he settles into his seat. “The challenge has been issued and accepted. I will no longer intervene in this dispute. Better it be settled now than in a grudge match that affects our war effort, as it was the last time Nox raised the ire of a Councilor.”

“That was not my fault,” Kryn says lightly, not taking her gaze from Ravage. She stands unmoving and crackling with energy. “Thanaton didn't understand when to quit. Luckily for me, Ravage is more than happy to make the same mistake, and I am more than happy to give him the same treatment.”

Ravage is pacing with short, quick steps, swinging his arms back and forth. “Enough!” His saber hisses to life and he propels himself at her. She lets him get within two steps before she flings him backward on a wave of energy, following it with a lightning bolt so bright it prompts surprised exclamations from several of the Councilors. 

Smoke drifts from his cybernetics as he plants his feet, regaining his balance and staring balefully at Kryn.

“Are you going to ask for help, or would you prefer I put you out of your misery?” she asks in an incongruous, infuriatingly chirpy voice. “It must be dreadfully embarrassing to not have already dispatched someone like me.” She speeds toward him, placing a hand flat on his chest. Sparks erupt underneath it, and Ravage shakes as electricity courses through him.

“You’d think such an _unworthy_ alien, an interloper like myself, wouldn’t be able to do this to you. Yet here you are, completely at my mercy,” she says, her voice low enough that only the two of them can hear her. “You can hear every word, and you can’t do a thing about it. Useless, as always.” Her mouth touches his ear in a perversion of a lover’s kiss. “I’m glad you didn’t make me kill you on Korriban. This is so much better.”

Marr’s shoulders tense and he grits his teeth when he realizes she’s taking too long. His fingers drop, unthinking, to the lightsaber hilt at his side, though they close around hers instead of his own. If Ravage shakes off the electricity when she’s that close, she won’t have time to block his attack. 

Kryn has circled around Ravage and has a fingertip under his chin, still speaking words too soft for the rest of the Councilors to hear, when he swings his saber up, wordless cry of rage resounding off the walls. Kryn leaps back, but not far enough to prevent a glancing blow along her bared forearm. Her pained exclamation is clipped, trapped in her mouth while she summons humming electricity around her. 

Ravage’s carefully styled hair is in disarray, his frenzied strikes bouncing harmlessly off Kryn’s shield as he hurls invectives at her. His chest is heaving and his face is a mottled red when he drops his saber and takes a step back, his next words loud in the sudden stillness. 

“You’ll never be anything more than a slave!”

Kryn’s snotty smile disappears in the blink of an eye, replaced by black fury. Dark energy seethes around her. Thunder rolls through the Council chamber. 

Her words are quiet and yet carry to each Council member, watching in silence just as they did when Kryn confronted Thanton two years ago. “Perhaps it’s time you understand what a _slave_ is capable of.”

She thrusts both hands toward him, and a searing explosion of lightning, centered on Ravage, washes the room in tangles of violet and white. 

For a moment, everything disappears in a glowing haze. 

The light fades away, details return to the room, and ozone hangs heavy in the air as Kryn pointedly ignores Ravage’s corpse and looks at each Councilor in turn, breathing hard, her face grim. “Does anyone else wish to voice their displeasure about my species, my work, my abilities, or my seat on the Council?”

The room is silent.

“No one? Very well.” Cradling her wounded arm to her chest, she drops into her seat. “Pardon the interruption, Darth Marr. Do continue.”

He resumes his place in the center of the room. “Aruk?”

Aruk looks from Ravage to Kryn to Marr and nods. “Very well, Marr. You have my support.”

“Acina?”

Acina’s hologram scowls. “No. Absolutely not. I did not sacrifice what I have to get where I am merely to have it taken away.”

“Sacrifice? You were appointed by the Emperor,” Marr growls. “What sacrifice was made, Acina?”

“Exactly! I was appointed by the Emperor, and I will not dishonor that!”

“He massacred the whole of Ziost!” Kryn shouts, slamming a fist on the arm of her chair. “What is there to _honor_?”

Acina waves her off. “I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand. The Empire did not become great by throwing away everything it’s built itself on. What’s next? Are we going to parley with Jedi? I will not sacrifice my power or my artifacts for your mad notions, Marr,” she snaps, looking around the room. “Someone has to stand against your dismantling of our society, and if none of you will, then I will do so alone!” Her hologram winks out.

Marr folds his arms, clearly displeased. “Very well. Rictus?”

Shrouded, as always, by a deep hood obscuring his face, Darth Rictus’ hologram shrugs. “I fail to see why I should take sides.”

“Are your assassins going to stay neutral, then, Rictus?” Mortis asks with no small amount of sarcasm in his voice. “That will certainly be a first.”

“It simply doesn’t serve my interests to choose a side. Siding against Acina, she’ll bring to bear every artifact in her arsenal. Siding against you, it will appear that I’m siding against the whole of the Empire.”

“So instead, you’ll send your assassins against both sides, thus increasing your own power base,” Kryn snaps.

“Rictus, would Mortis, Marr, and I all back a losing cause?” Vowrawn asks. “Surely you can look at who has agreed to this alliance and judge for yourself whether it’s worthy. Acina is standing alone, fighting a battle she cannot hope to win.”

Rictus shakes his head. “I would have time to consider. I will contact you when I have decided.” His hologram, too, disappears.

“Everyone here is in agreement, then?” Marr waits for everyone to indicate their assent. “Very well. In the coming weeks we will seat Sith on the Council to replace those we’ve lost.”

“We’re going to appoint replacements? What of the Hand?” Mortis asks. “It’s always been the Servants that appointed Councilors.”

“Not true; Marr appointed both Karrid and Nox,” Aruk says. “And if our goal is to pull the Empire away from unnecessary dependence on our former Emperor, then it would be up to us to appoint successors, anyway.”

“It was the Hand that then appointed Acina, as she said,” Mortis muses, “but you are right. We’ll be assembling to question the prospects, then?”

Marr nods. “Take the intervening time to evaluate your own policies and alter them as necessary. Mortis, much of this will fall to you. Deal with malcontents and dissenters as you see fit.”

Vowrawn raises his hand. “Are we announcing this to the Empire as a whole?” 

“I would suggest a date with some import,” Kryn says. “Perhaps the one month anniversary of the destruction of Ziost.”

“An excellent suggestion, Nox, and one I second,” Vowrawn says. “Remind people why we’re doing this.”

“Four days from now.” Marr considers. “It is acceptable. I would ask that you all attend. It is essential we present a united front, given the new fractures in the Council.” His posture relaxes, just a bit. “That’s all I have. Does anyone have anything else?”

Everyone exchanges glances, but no one speaks up.

“Very well. This meeting is adjourned.” He turns and strides out of the Council chamber.

Kryn slips past Mortis and Vowrawn, who are discussing what to do with Ravage’s lifeless body, and hurries just enough to catch up to Marr at the lift doors. “Hold the door?” She slips inside, grinning as the doors close behind her. “You still have my lightsaber.”

He doesn't answer right away, and the lift is halfway through its ascent when Marr discards his mask and gauntlets, dropping them to the floor with a thud. One hand curls into a fist and punches the emergency stop button, the other skims across Kryn’s throat and up into her hair as he bends to kiss her. 

There are few places in the Citadel where they're more likely to be found out, especially with Councilors still below them, and she's expecting his mouth to crash into hers, the usual kind of hurried kiss one has when it’s stolen practically in public. 

This kiss is a breeze swirling over the grassy plains of Alderaan, a whisper, the barest brush of skin against skin, and his aftershave fills her nose as she leans into his hand.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, and then a wide smile crinkles the corners of his eyes before he kisses her again, harder this time, hands cupping her face as she runs her fingers through his hair. “First step’s done, Kryn.”

She can’t help but return the smile. “It is.” Up on her tiptoes, she catches his lower lip between her teeth before she deepens the kiss, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him closer. 

The speaker in the wall crackles to life and a maintenance worker's voice booms in the lift, voice staticky. “My lords? We don’t know what’s going on with the lift, but we’re getting the repair droid right now.”

They jerk away from each other, startled. Kryn grins up at Marr before she pushes the intercom button. “No need,” she says. “I bumped the emergency stop button. I think we can handle it from here, yes?”

“Uh, y-yes, my lord. Pardon the interruption.”

Marr brushes her cheek with his thumb. "We better get going before people get suspicious, but I thought this warranted just one celebratory kiss." He picks up his armor, giving her a last lingering kiss before he pulls on his gauntlets and refastens his mask. 

“Oh, we’re not done celebrating,” Kryn says as she punches the button, lifting her lightsaber off his belt and clipping it to her own. “Not by a long shot.”


	26. Slow Like Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn and Marr are finally able to find some uninterrupted time alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thank you all for being so patient with the delays on this chapter! So many real-life issues got in the way and it kept getting pushed farther and farther back. I hope it's worth the wait.)

“You tarried too long.” 

An angry red burn scores nearly the entire length of Kryn’s forearm, which is balanced on Marr’s palm. He’s careful to keep his loosely curled fingers from inadvertently touching the wound as he rummages through a worn bag. “Too caught up in being insolent. As usual.” 

Kryn's perched on the smooth black counter in the ornate ‘fresher, her legs wrapped around his, watching his movements. He stops what he's doing and grasps her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up so she can see the seriousness in his eyes. “This could have been a lot worse.”

She’s unperturbed by his chiding tone, a hint of a smirk on her face. “But it wasn't.” She holds out her free hand when he starts muttering to himself. “Give me the bag. What are you looking for?”

He passes the bag to her. “Single-use wrap.”

After shuffling some things around, she withdraws a small packet. “This?” When he nods, she opens it and hands it to him, brushing a lock of hair back off his forehead as he wraps the kolto-moistened cloth over the burn. Its coolness is a marked contrast to the heat of his hand, and she shivers. 

“This needs to stay on for at least ten minutes,” he says, “so it would be best if you sit here and relax while I keep your arm still.” 

“Oh, for -” She makes a face at him. “I could have healed this myself, you know.”

“I know.” He braces his free hand on the polished black stone, keeping Kryn’s injured arm cradled between them as he captures her mouth with his own. When she shifts her legs, wrapping them around his waist and pulling him tightly against her, he splays his hand on the small of her back, sliding it upward to cradle the back of her head.

She can’t decide what to do with her hand; it threads through his hair, flits down to cup his face, slips around his broad shoulders. He always kisses her with all the emotion he hides from the galaxy at large, drawing from a well-tended and deeply buried core of molten heat that he keeps under tight rein. Kryn adores watching him loosen his grip on that control, seeing it slip with each kiss, when he relaxes into her, when everything ceases to matter but all the points where they’re connected.

There’s fire in his green eyes when he draws back just far enough to say her name, the single syllable full of need leashed through prodigious will alone. “Kryn.”

She answers him with another kiss, full of banked fire and distant lightning and love, boundless and wild. “Matthius.”

He slides an arm under her ass and she twines her arms around his neck, the forgotten kolto wrap falling to the floor as he lifts her off the counter. She leaves a constellation of kisses across his face and neck, warm as starfire on his skin, but his stride doesn’t falter until she captures his earlobe between her teeth. He misses the first stair and has to brace them against the wall, groaning, and his voice is just a little strangled, enough that she knows he’s drawn as taut as she is, that desire is spidering through his veins just as it is hers. 

Using the Force to guide his steps, he hurries up the stairs, only relinquishing his hold on her when they’re next to his bed. She lands silently on the carpet, reaches for his tunic at the same time he reaches for hers, and they have to take a moment to untangle themselves from a snarl of fabric and limbs that leaves Kryn grinning up at him when he sends both shirts sailing across the room with a frustrated growl.

“Finally.” His hands skim along the smooth skin of her torso, pausing briefly to squeeze her breasts as he bends his head to kiss her again, unable to refrain from doing so for any length of time. He backs her into the bed; she abruptly sits, then pushes herself back into the center of the mattress. He plants his knees on either side of her hips, then captures both of her delicate wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head.

She bites her lip then beams at him. “It appears you have me at your mercy,” she says. “What do you plan to do with me?”

He whispers an _I love you_ against her temple. One at the crook of her neck. Another in the hollow of her throat, before he releases her hands. She doesn’t move them, captivated as he works his way along her body, each whispered declaration more fuel to a fire already threatening to burn out of control. Her sternum. Her stomach. Her hipbones. And then he’s standing, hands swift on her belt, whisking her trousers off and dropping them at his feet before climbing astride her again. 

A smile teases the corner of his mouth when he sweeps her legs onto his shoulders, then plants a kiss on each thigh, parts damp red curls to softly press his lips to her. Kryn usually tries to hold out a little, but this time … oh, this time she’s been longing for him, and she jumps when he touches her, pulling a sibilant breath through her teeth.

Marr draws slow, patient circles around her clit, waiting until she muffles a moan behind tightened lips to quicken his movements. When she begins to trip up the scale in a staccato aria of increasingly uncontrolled pleasure, he wraps his arms around her thighs, holding her in place as she clutches the blanket in one fist and his hair in the other, willing her to come undone. 

She arches her back, incoherent, in thrall to each change in pressure and direction, and he groans against her, awash in the waves of bliss rolling off her. That last vibration tilts the razor’s edge she’s been teetering on, toppling her headlong into space and white star streaks and weightlessness, her cry rough but sustained in the otherwise still room.

Wrenching back from her, sliding out from underneath her still-quivering legs and climbing off the bed, is one of the hardest things he’s had to do in a long time. He can’t take his eyes off her, splayed and waiting and wanting, and of course this time his pants are obstinate. He yanks at the cloth resentfully, discarding the torn fabric without a second thought; trousers can be replaced and he needs to be inside her.

He kneels back on the bed, skimming his palms along her legs as he moves between them. She's already canting her hips toward him, reaching for him, then he's sliding into her and then the time between them melts away. This can't be rushed, no matter how his heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He can't haul her up against the wall and fuck her until a picture crashes to the floor (again). 

No, this must be slow and sweet and savored.

The first languid roll of his hips nearly undoes him, he wants her so badly, but he only groans low in his chest and folds forward, wrapping one arm around her shoulders to hold her close when she arches to meet his movements.

She kisses the pulse in his neck, the curve of his ear, the strong line of his jaw, before she claims his mouth, twining her arms around his neck as she moans into him. He’s touching nearly all of her at once, and she is ablaze with desire, sure she must be turning to ash with the intensity of her need for him.

She tries to coax him onward, upward, skyward, but he will not be dissuaded. Even now he can feel her melting underneath him, her white-hot impatience instead fueling her touches, her kisses, the way she clings to him in a tight embrace that she’s increasingly reluctant to release. Her hands splay across his back, drawing forth an appreciative murmur from her as muscles stretch and bunch under her caress.

She’s aching for him by the time she lays her lips alongside his ear, grasping for words through the haze that’s settled over her mind.

“Please.”

The single word, both teasing and pleading, ricochets down his spine. It steals his concentration, renders him helpless to think of anything but how lost is he in her. In how she murmurs _I love you_ , almost unthinking, against his mouth. In how no one has ever fit so perfectly against him, around him. In how he cannot imagine his life without her in it, and doesn’t want to. 

Nothing in the galaxy can surpass this, the two of them tangled around each other, inseparable, his mouth on hers like he’s driven to lay claim to all of her at once.

She shifts, and he shifts, and his arms tighten around her as she braces herself against the headboard, pressing back against his bucking hips. He’s close, so close … but he slows, studying her face, unable to look away. Everything stills, a single point in time crystallizing around them.

“Kryn, I love you.”

She smiles, soft and sweet. “I love you too, Matthius.” 

Swift as it began, the moment dissipates like morning mist, and the crystal silence breaks into shining rays of light when she snaps her hips into his; he responds in kind, and soon they’re moving as one, skin heated and sweat-slicked, rhythm abandoned for pure instinct. Her mouth forms around stuttered half-words, exclamations and expletives never fully completed, punctuated by his own and interrupted with each thrust.

She tenses underneath him, her nails score his back, and she tightens around him, voice trailing into nothing as her vision explodes into white. His shout of completion is muffled in her hair as he shudders against her, and they go slack in an exhausted jumble.

“I hope that was worth the wait,” he says with some difficulty, breathing hard. Keeping his arms around her, he levitates them off the blanket.

She pulls it down with a gesture, covering them with it when he settles them back onto the bed. “Of course it was.” She twists around to kiss him. “I knew it would be.” A slow grin spreads across her face. “I’m only surprised we weren’t interrupted again.”

“I put all three holocoms in my bottom desk drawer,” he says conspiratorially. “And covered them in datapads.”

She boosts herself onto one elbow and gapes at him in genuine shock. “That’s so unlike you!”

“This was important, and I made you a promise.” His voice turns imperious. “I am not at anyone’s beck and call. They can wait on my pleasure.”

She laughs merrily. “And you certainly got _that_ , didn’t you? I know that attitude won’t last, but I’ll take it while it does.” She covers her mouth as she yawns.

He combs his fingers through her hair, unable to stifle a yawn of his own, then holds out an arm. “Come back here, _qilitzarai_.”

She fits her body against his, her back pressed to the expanse of his chest. “What was that you called me?”

“Tempest,” he says, running his fingers through her hair, “in Sith. It seems fitting. I forgot you wouldn’t have learned it.”

“Mm, you’ll have to teach me sometime.” She laces her fingers with his when he throws his arm over her. “But not before a nap.”


	27. Let Us Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Council assembles and announces the new direction of the Empire.

The day of the announcement dawns much like any other day in Kaas City. A drizzling rain leaves a shine on everything it touches. Lightning spiders its way across the cloudy sky. A steady stream of speeders makes its way to the Citadel, bound for all three wings of the massive building.

In the Sanctum, Bryasere is standing near Darth Marr’s door awaiting instructions, having already announced each arriving member of the fledgling alliance. Vowrawn steps back from the small, quietly conversing group of Sith and strolls over to Marr’s desk, settling into one of the two empty chairs. “No word from Rictus?”

Marr shakes his head. “No. We will proceed without him. He has a choice and knows what awaits him if he opposes us.” He studies what he's written, makes a change. “How much time?”

“We’ll need to leave for the Spires in about ten minutes.” 

“And Nox hasn’t arrived.” Marr sighs. He’d tried to get her to stay with him last night; she’d emphatically declined, claiming a need to get ready in her own house. He couldn’t be less surprised she isn’t here yet.

The office door slides open. “Yes, I have.” Kryn strides into the office, stunning and regal in a silver column dress shot through with black, complete with billowing cape and a decorative helm tucked under her arm. “Honestly, I was only late to Council meetings a couple of times, and this is far more important than those were. Have a little more faith in me.” She crosses the room with swift steps, stopping behind him and reading over his shoulder. She taps the screen, snatching her hand back when he swats at it. “Right here, what about what you said to the Wrath? This part feels sparse and I think that would fill it out a little better.”

He thinks back to the conversation, gives her an arch look he knows she can’t see but he can’t keep off his face. “The part about you, I’m assuming.”

“I would suggest it even if the example wasn’t me,” she says, offended. “It’s not _my_ fault you people haven’t appointed a non-human or non-Sith Councilor with any longevity. My point is that if you’re going to tell the Empire that they can’t continue to subjugate aliens, it would be in your best interest to point out that an alien has done quite a lot to cement the Empire’s standing recently. This is a deeply-held attitude we’re trying to change.”

“You’re right.” He starts typing again. “Better?”

She reads it again. “Yes, much.” She checks her chrono. “Just in time, too. We need to go.”

They’re almost to the parking garage when Kryn slows her step and clears her throat. “Darth Marr, can I ride with you? My speeder’s been acting up lately.” 

He sees it for the blatant lie it is. “Of course, Darth Nox.”

She settles in next to him, waiting until they’re away from the Citadel to speak, her hands folded rather primly on top of the helm resting in her lap. “I’m nervous.”

“Is that why you brought a helm?” He reaches across and takes one of her hands. “You normally don’t wear them when you’re not wearing armor.”

She nods but doesn’t speak, looking out over the cityscape.

“The Empire looks to us for leadership. It’s our responsibility to guide it as we see fit, in a way that will benefit our people as a whole.” He squeezes her hand. “Remember, the alliance is a strong one, and you and I are prepared for anything.”

“We are.” She smiles, wide and genuine, then sets the helm in the back seat of the speeder. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Besides, you get to do all the work. The rest of us just get to stand there and look nice. Phenomenal, in my case.” She thinks for a minute. “When was the last time the entire Council gathered like this?”

“It’s not a thing that’s done, not publicly. This will convey the gravity of the situation, though I dislike how few of us there are.” He parks the speeder in the lot near the taxi pad. “Walk with me?”

“Of course.” She has to stop herself from looping her arm around his as they stride toward the plaza. The city feels quieter than normal, people slowing as they go about their daily business, watching the Councilors stride toward the Spires of Victory.

 _They’re drawn to you like moths to a flame_. Marr’s voice touches her mind. _It’s almost amusing to watch heads turn as you approach._

She’s quite proud that she keeps a straight face. _Yes, I’m sure none of that has to do with you towering over everyone, covered in spikes_.

 _Accept the compliment, you stubborn woman_.

For once, she decides to not fight him and inclines her head, just a bit. _You’re right, it's because I'm simply ravishing_.

A crowd is already forming at a respectful distance around the Spires when Kryn and Marr arrive. An acolyte begins setting up the holoprojector brought from the Sanctum as the Councilors confer.

“Marr, how do you want everyone arranged?” Mortis asks. 

Kryn taps her chin thoughtfully. “Vowrawn and Mortis, you two have been the most visible and are the most senior after Marr, yes? I would suggest you stand to his right and left.”

“I don’t want Nox stuck on the end as an afterthought,” Marr says. “There’s only five of us. We can stand in a single line.” He shakes his head, clearly irritated. “Five out of twelve. That must be rectified as soon as possible. I’ll make the calls, but I want to assemble to speak to prospective Councilors in six days. Does this conflict with anyone’s schedule?” When no one says anything, he nods. “Good. If you have a suggestion for any of the seats we need to fill, get them to me in the next week.”

“Marr, put Nox on your right hand.” Vowrawn smiles at Kryn. “Not that you’re a prop, my dear, but you _do_ bolster Marr’s argument for changing the way we’ve always done things, given how much you’ve accomplished for the Empire.”

She inclines her head. “I am amenable, if that is what Marr wishes to do.”

Marr nods. “Very well. Nox and Mortis on my right, Vowrawn and Aruk on my left.” He signals to the acolyte once everyone is in place. “Begin transmission.”

The image of the five solemn Councilors flickers to life. 

Darth Marr, effortlessly imposing, stands with his hands clasped behind his back. He looks every inch the leader of the Empire, exuding calm authority. “Our Empire has stood for over a thousand years, and for over forty years I have been privileged to guide its course, had the honor of standing with the vanguard of its defense.” He stops for a moment, and when he continues there is a noticeable thread of emotion in his voice. “I love the Empire. I love her people. We have weathered every challenge that has been thrown at us, from threats both within and without, and stand here today with our heads held high, marking a sobering anniversary.

“One month ago, we stood with you and watched as our Emperor, our leader, turned traitor and slaughtered Imperial citizens. One month ago, we heard the inhuman shriek of a planet ripped from the Force that sustains it. And in that moment, we knew one thing with a certainty:

The Empire must adapt to survive.”

This proclamation rings out across the Empire: in homes and public squares, in administration buildings, in restaurants. Cantinas are eerily quiet, the music stopped, patrons more interested in the broadcast than their gambling or drinking. It is played on every ship in the fleet within broadcast range, in every barracks and outpost, troops and officers all assembled and watching in stern silence.

Ca’ii and Liinz, lounging in Ca’ii’s house on Nar Shaddaa, both grin when they see Kryn standing next to Marr. Ca’ii immediately starts looking through pictures of wedding dresses, saving a folder full to send to Kryn just to get a rise out of her.

Raitlia is in her tiny apartment on Coruscant, the rest of the crew save for Aric on R&R. She’s rigid, arms folded, unable to look away and hoping this doesn’t turn out like Malgus’ announcement, or she’s going to be forced to choose between her family and the Republic’s orders. Aric comes to stand beside her, resting his hand on the small of her back, murmuring words of reassurance.

Rafana slips unnoticed into the crowd gathered in the main office of Sith Intelligence. She hadn’t wanted to be halfway across the galaxy if something goes wrong with this endeavor, and she's still bleary-eyed and yawning from her early landing this morning.

On Yavin Four, Semiri and Scourge exchange a worried glance, which Semiri then waves off. “Kryn isn’t going to do anything stupid.” She considers. “At least, not that the entire Council would go along with, right?” She falls silent, watching with the rest of the personnel stationed at the research facility.

Zal’shana, on Tython, joins a group of tense Jedi watching the announcement in one of the temple common rooms, distinctly unhappy at the murmurs suggesting they should have attacked before now and crippled the Empire in one blow.

Lysch joins the growing group of Sith watching the proceedings in the bistro in the Sanctum, though she’s listening more to the opinions around her than to the message itself.

Marr’s voice hardens. “We learned two harsh lessons from Ziost, two lessons that have changed the trajectory of the Empire forever. One, our Emperor is no longer our Emperor, and he no longer cares for his people. Two, the Republic will take any chance to attack, whether it endangers their people or not.” He pauses. “I believe _we_ are better than that. I do not wish to pursue a war with the Republic when victory’s cost is the impairment of our Empire. That said, I will not leave us defenseless, at the mercy of their bloodthirsty chancellor. If they choose to attack us, we will not stand idly by and allow ourselves to be decimated, and I would see all who would support us, all who would defend us, given the chance to do so.”

The Republic Senate building is eerily quiet as politicians and aides watch these proceedings with interest and trepidation. Satele Shan, watching the broadcast in Supreme Chancellor Saresh’s office, doesn’t look away from the screen, silently impressed with Marr’s pragmatism, making a mental note to discuss this with the chancellor afterward.

“For more than ten centuries,” Marr continues, “we have revered our Emperor, treated him as we would a deity, but no longer will we bend the knee to a murderous _thing_ bent on consuming us. For more than ten centuries, Sith have pursued their own interests to the detriment of all else, but no longer will our attentions be absorbed in power plays that contribute nothing to our society. For more than ten centuries, we have proclaimed that humans and Sith are better, but no longer will we stand on the backs of people we have deemed lesser for no good reason.

“Over the coming weeks, your patience and cooperation will be required as the Council provides directives for this transition. It will not be easy, and it will take time, but we are not asking you to do anything we have not done ourselves.”

He gestures to Kryn, nudging her forward a step. “Darth Nox is a proven success of this philosophy in action. Common belief would say that because she is an alien, she should still be a slave, subject to the whims of her owner, but her contributions are widely known and invaluable. Without her our position in the galaxy would be much more fragile, and it is nonsensical to continue holding back those who would devote their lives to the betterment of the Empire simply because of who they are. Those who followed Malgus have come back to the fold and served admirably. We cannot continue to be xenophobic, insular, and myopic if we wish to reach our true potential.

“There will be those of you who will push back against this change. Those of you who will say we are crippling the Empire. Those of you who will mistake my civility for weakness.” His next words are durasteel, implacable and uncompromising, imbued with all the might of the Sith. “Know this: the Council is unanimous in this endeavor. You will not be able to pit us against one another. Any attempts to subvert us will be dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly. We are stronger together than we are separately, and you will learn this or perish. We must unite to seize our destiny.”

The transmission ends.

“Well, we’ll certainly be remembered, if nothing else,” Vowrawn says with characteristic good humor as he looks around at the people surrounding the square, many of them already deep in conversation. “Excellent speech, my friend.” He looks over at Kryn, a smile playing on his face. “I must say, your posture is fantastic for someone shouldering the burden of changing a thousand years of convictions, Nox.”

Kryn laughs. “I can’t slouch. This dress would look terrible if I slouched.”

“All that remains is to deal with the fallout and make this transition as smooth as possible,” Marr says. “It falls on each of you to maintain order in your respective spheres. Do not be lax in punishing those who will not toe the line. More than ever, discipline must be upheld. Ensure that it is clear that if they do not correct their course, the Wrath will. I trust that even the most recalcitrant among us will not want a visit from her.”

“The greatest pushback is going to come from those who follow Acina, once she presses her case,” Mortis observes. “And from Sith who feel threatened.” He shakes his head. “That number will not be inconsiderable, Marr.”

“They will adapt or they will die,” Marr says with finality. “I do not have the time nor the inclination to deal with fragile egos. Aruk, ensure the Academy is aware of these changes and implementing them immediately. Any who do not embrace them will be persuaded, or they will be replaced. It should not be a drastic change; we altered the standards for entry years ago.”

“Yes, Darth Marr. I’ll leave for Korriban today.” Aruk considers. “In fact, I’ll leave from here, if we have no further need of me.”

“Go. Report back as soon as you’re able.”

Mortis steps forward. “We've been working on these edicts and I'm going to begin issuing them. Vowrawn, we need to speak soon about the economic ramifications of moving away from slavery.”

“I have time now if you do,” Vowrawn says.

“Marr, I assume you’re taking care of the military side of things?" Mortis says. "Or does my office need to send those out, as well?”

Marr waves him off. “I have it under control. However, I will be noting that these proclamations are in accordance with changes set forth by the Sphere of Laws and Justice. This should prevent insubordinate moffs running to you to attempt to circumvent me.”

“Any Imperial who attempts to circumvent _you_ deserves what they get,” Vowrawn laughs. 

“That may be, but there will be those who will let fear override their good sense, and we can’t allow that sort of chaos to fester in the ranks.” He looks at Kryn. “I assume your sphere is under control.”

“Of course. I eliminated those who felt they couldn’t adequately serve -” She stops, scowling. “Well, take your pick of any number of insulting references to any number of my traits - as soon as I assumed dominion over the sphere.”

“What about Biotic Science? They’ve been operating under the temporary purview of Acina,” Mortis says.

“That ends today.” Marr’s fist smacks into his open palm. “Acina is to be cut off from all Council resources. She may control the Arcanum, but the majority of the Sphere of Technology is still in the Citadel.”

“Consider it done.” Vowrawn makes a note on his datapad. “I’ll put all three spheres - those two and Diplomacy - under the control of the Council as a whole until we replace their heads.”

Marr nods. “Excellent.”

Kryn’s attention is drawn away from the conversation by two young girls, a skinny, scowling orange Twi’lek and a pugnacious Sith with short-cropped black hair, shouting at each other on the steps near the Spires and ignoring all attempts by their parents to hush them. She makes her way across the square, stopping a step below the girls. “What seems to be the problem?”

The Twi’lek’s father’s eyes go wide, and he takes a step closer to his daughter. “My lord, please, have mercy, they’re just -”

Kryn holds up a hand, stilling the flow of words, then takes a knee. “It’s all right. Girls, what are you arguing about?”

“This … _slave_ ,” the Sith starts, earning another glare from the Twi’lek, “she -”

“Ah-ah.” Kryn tsks at the girl. “Weren’t you listening a few minutes ago?”

“Just because _you_ say there aren’t any more slaves doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be any more slaves, and everyone knows we’re better than them anyway, my mother and father say so,” the girl says, her jaw jutting forward. Behind her, a look of utter panic crosses her mother’s face, and the crowd grows quiet.

Behind Kryn, the three remaining Councilors have stopped their conversation to watch this scene play out, as has a Holonet news crew, a fact Vowrawn quietly points out to Marr.

Kryn’s hands settle on her hips. “Hmm, I see. You know, I was a slave, and now I’m a Councilor. Would you say I’m worth less than Darth Marr? Darth Mortis? Anyone else on the Council?”

“Well, you are a ….” The girl trails off, looks over her shoulder. “Mother, _what_ is she?”

The Sith woman steps forward, her haughtiness tinged by fear. “She’s a Dark Councilor, Jaya, and you should address her with the respect she’s due,” she says, albeit somewhat begrudgingly.

“I’m a Miraluka,” Kryn says, ignoring the woman.

Jaya folds her arms. “Well, whatever you are, the Empire has rules and they should be followed.”

“You are absolutely correct.” As Jaya starts to nod smugly, Kryn holds up a hand. “And sometimes those rules change. You’re clearly a well-educated young woman. I believe the first rule is that the Dark Council guides the Empire, is it not?”

“Yes,” Jaya mutters.

“Then perhaps, instead of standing here yelling at this girl and telling her she’s worthless, you should be endeavoring to embody the ideals the Council has set out, should you not? You have a chance to be a good example to everyone around you, and it would behoove you to take that chance.”

“My lord, they’re just children,” Jaya’s mother says. “You can’t expect them to understand this.”

“You underestimate their capability for comprehension.” Kryn looks up at the woman. “And children learn their earliest values at home. What you teach them now will travel with them when they go to the Academy, or join the military, and if you do not correct their course they will be in for a lot of misery trying to unlearn outdated ideals.”

The woman inclines her head. “As you say, my lord.”

Kryn directs her attention back to the girl. “Jaya, what do you want to do when you grow up?”

“I’m going to go to the Academy, and I’m going to be a great fighter like Darth Marr,” Jaya says with conviction. “He can’t guard the Empire forever.”

Kryn has to stifle a smile. “Indeed. That’s a very admirable goal. But remember that Darth Marr also recognized that the Empire has to change. You would do well to remember his pragmatism as well as his battle prowess.”

Jaya nods, though she doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Yes, my lord.” 

Kryn turns to the Twi’lek girl. “And what’s your name?”

The girl briefly drops her gaze, the barest acquiescence to customs and courtesies before returning her bright green eyes to Kryn’s face. “Beshra, my lord.”

“And what do you want to do when you grow up, Beshra?”

“I want to serve on a starship,” she says, face alight. “I want to leave here and see everyplace else.” She scrutinizes Kryn. “What do _you_ do?”

Kryn smiles. “I take care of artifacts that we find throughout the galaxy. Holocrons, tablets, things like that.”

“That sounds fun!” Beshra exclaims. “Do you find these things yourself?”

“Not usually. The Imperial Reclamation Service has posts all over, and they bring their finds home to Dromund Kaas.”

“Oh,” Beshra says, looking somewhat crestfallen. “Never mind. I’d want to find everything myself. My lord, was Darth Marr serious? Does he want everyone to be able to be Imperials?”

Kryn nods. “Yes, Beshra.”

“Good. That’s fair. We work just as hard as you.” She looks over at Jaya, unable to resist taunting the Sith girl one more time. “And Darth Marr is in charge, not _you_.”

“Yet,” Jaya snaps. “You wait.”

“What are you going to do,” Beshra snarls, “enslave half the Empire again?”

Jaya takes a step forward. “I ought to -”

“Girls!” Kryn’s voice is a whipcrack as she stands, glaring at both of them. “What did the Council just get done saying?”

Both girls look down. Jaya scuffs the toe of her shoe against the duracrete, and Beshra folds her arms. “We have to get along,” the Twi’lek finally mutters.

“And is that what you’re doing right now?”

“No,” Jaya mumbles.

“Jaya, no one is obligated to be nice to you. Respect must be earned. I’m respected because I earned my seat. Sith and moffs and admirals are respected because they earned their titles. Be someone who has earned the respect of those around her, not someone who has cowed everyone into fearing her.” Kryn waits until Jaya nods sullenly before flicking her fingers toward the girl’s parents. “Run along now. Remember what I’ve told you.”

“Yes, my lord.” Jaya turns and stomps back to her mother.

Kryn turns to the Twi’lek. “Beshra, no one’s obligated to be nice to you, either, and they’re going to make you work twice as hard to prove yourself. My overseer at the Academy tried to kill me from the day I arrived. You put your head down and you give it your all and you seize this opportunity, just like any other Imperial would. Now go back to your father.”

Beshra nods, determination hardening her expression. “Yes, my lord.”

Kryn returns to the gathered Councilors, all of whom are watching her. “Is there a particular reason you all are staring at me?”

“I think she just upstaged our entire announcement,” Vowrawn says, amused. “Marr, we should have saved time and simply sent your protege out among the people.”

Kryn grins. “I’m certainly not serious enough to be Darth Marr’s protege, thank you. And how did I upstage everything by going to talk to two girls?” She scoffs. “Let’s not be ridiculous.” 

Marr points out the news crew now working their way through the crowd. “Your entire conversation made the news, Nox.”

Kryn raises an eyebrow, nonplussed. “Ah. Well.” She shrugs. “All I did was tell those girls the truth.”

“Shall we go, Mortis?” Vowrawn asks. “Only if you’re done with your populist tour, my dear,” he adds with a wink in Kryn’s direction. “I don’t want to miss a moment of it if you’re not.” 

“Oh, you.” Kryn laughs. “You act like I planned this!”

“Vowrawn, you took a taxi, did you not? You can ride with me,” Mortis says. “The taxi pads are going to be a nightmare with all these people trying to get where they need to go.”

Vowrawn nods. “A superb suggestion. We’ll see you two back at the Citadel,” he says to Kryn and Marr before disappearing into the crowd with Mortis.

Kryn turns to find Marr staring pensively at the Spires, hands clasped behind his back. “Ready to go back?” 

“Do you know,” he says, not looking at her, “it wouldn’t have occurred to any of us to go talk to those girls?”

“Well, of course not.” Kryn gives him a curious look. “You’ve all been on the Council for how long, combined? I’ve been on it for two years. I’m the only one of you who’s been on both sides of the fence, so to speak. Beshra - the Twi’lek girl - would likely have written off anything you said, not to mention any of you would have scared those girls into speechlessness.” She pauses, thinking how to phrase what she wants to ask. “Are you … displeased I talked to them?”

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m simply contemplating how your presence is going to chart this new path we’re on,” he says quietly. “As you said a few weeks ago, the Empire does not easily lend herself to course correction. But I believe we have a better chance with you than without you.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

He looks down at her, and she can practically see his astonishment. “Nothing flippant to say?”

She smiles. “No, not this time. This undertaking is very dear to my heart, as you might imagine.”

He nods. “Shall we return to the Citadel?” 

She notices him reach for her, however minutely, as they cross the plaza, then pull his hand back. _Did you almost take my arm?_

 _I did_.

A smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. _You can, you know. I wouldn’t mind_.

 _Perhaps we ought to stick to one earthshattering announcement a day_ , he thinks wryly. _Vowrawn is already too suspicious for his own good; I’d rather not confirm his suspicions via Holonet_.

 _Oh, very well, spoilsport_. Her mirth ripples through the Force. _We’ll save that for next week_.

They fall into companionable silence for the trip back to the Citadel, and are in Kryn’s office before Marr speaks again. “We have much work ahead of us.”

Kryn takes his hand, laces her fingers with his, and gives him an insouciant grin. “To think, when I became a Councilor I was worried I might die of boredom, but here we are two years later dealing with an evolving Empire, a rogue former Emperor on the loose, and trying to keep our relationship a secret. It’s so exciting!”

“To think,” he echoes sardonically, “I was almost concerned when you gave me a serious answer when we were still at the Spires.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding very sorry at all, before she gives him an exaggeratedly serious look. “We do have much work ahead of us, and I will face it soberly and somberly, as is befitting a Dark Lord of the Sith.”

He laughs outright. “Grimness doesn’t suit you in the least. You should let me handle that.”

“I know. But I thought you’d appreciate the effort.”

“I did.” He checks his chrono. “I have to get back to my office. I need to disseminate these new directives and wait for the inevitable barrage of holocalls.”

Kryn looks around her office. “I didn’t have much else to do today; if you like, I can come with you and I’ll sort through the reactions on the Holonet, try to get an idea of where we’re at.” She smiles. “I mean, I could do it here, as well, but then I’d have to send you the information instead of simply telling you and it’s just an unnecessary extra step.”

Marr folds his arms and gives her a knowing look she feels, rather than sees. “You just want to watch me berate moffs, don’t you?”

She can’t hide her smirk. “I really, really do.”

“Oh, very well.” A thread of amusement runs through his voice. “Come along.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This brings us to the end of part one! 
> 
> When this story started I didn't intend it to be more than a one-shot, I certainly wasn't expecting it to be a two part longfic that's going to go over 100k words before it's finished, and I absolutely never anticipated so many people enjoying this story and these characters. Thank you all for reading and commenting; I'm so glad you all have liked it. <3
> 
> I'm excited for part two, and hope you are, as well. :D I'm going to be taking a brief hiatus for Christmas and New Year's, and possibly one week beyond that so I can get part 2 at least somewhat mapped out (as you can tell, KotFE is not a thing that's happening in this 'verse).


	28. Best Served Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn and Andronikos' night out takes an unexpected turn, and Kryn closes an old chapter of her history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kicking part 2 off with a bang! I figured it would be a fun way to end the year.
> 
> A bit of Kryn's history:  
> Born in 1311, adopted in 1319. Kidnapped in 1325, purchased in 1326, sent to the Academy in 1333. I headcanon she was there for at least three years (not the ... two days the game makes it feel like you're there), and was apprenticed to Zash in 1336.

[1]  
The Shattered Sun is always raucous, which is exactly why Kryn likes going there. She’s claimed a table quite close to the dance floor, laughing as she comes back with a fifth round of drinks for her and Andronikos, lights sparkling off of her short teal sequined dress and shining on her unbound crimson hair.

“You know, why is it I’m the one fetching drinks?” she asks as she sits down. “Last I checked, that should be your job.”

“Look, Sith, you can get hoity-toity with other people all you want, but the dark side’s gone to that pretty head of yours if you think I’m gonna hop to and jump through hoops.” He laughs, then takes a hearty swallow of ale.

A younger Sith, a human with tanned skin and bright blue eyes and elaborately gelled blond hair, strides up to their table. “Hello, gorgeous. I don’t know why you’re still here, but I already know you’ll be leaving with me.”

“Pretty sure he’s talking to you.” Kryn looks at Andronikos, smirk quirking the corner of her mouth. “I suppose I can loan you out for a night.”

Andronikos looks him up and down. “I don’t think he’s really my type,” he says, grinning. “Looks far too clean cut, especially for a Sith.”

“No, I was talking to you,” the Sith says to Kryn, laying his hands flat on the table and turning his back to Andronikos.

Kryn raises an eyebrow. “Are you unable to see I’m here with someone?”

The Sith looks at the pirate, who leans back in his chair, then turns back to Kryn. “If he’s not going to speak up, I’m pretty sure that means you’re free for the taking.” He reaches out, closing a hand around Kryn’s slim wrist. “Maybe you don’t know who I am. I am Lord Sinasar, and I -”

“Young man.” Kryn reaches across and digs her nails into Sinasar’s wrist, smiling as he winces. “Maybe you don’t know who _I_ am."

"Should I? You aliens all look the same ... though you're at least a fetching one."

"Nice knowing ya, kid," Andronikos says, raising his glass in a mocking salute.

Kryn's lips press into a thin line. "Indeed? Allow me to enlighten you.” In an abrupt, swift motion, she stands and swings the Sith into her chair, one stiletto-clad foot digging into his thigh and one hand splayed flat against his chest, her face all business as the music dies out and the club comes to a standstill at this display.

“You have heard of the Dark Council, yes?" she asks, cheerfully casual. When he doesn’t answer, she snatches his earlobe and yanks him toward her. “Answer me … what was your name again? Oh yes. _Lord Sinasar_.” She does a passable imitation of him. “Sorry, you humans just look all the same to me."

“Yes, of course I have,” he snaps as he jerks his ear out of her grasp, eyes flashing with irritation. “Who hasn’t? Why?”

Kryn appears thoughtful, tapping her bottom lip. “Who is your master?”

“How is that your business?” His jaw tightens as he glares at her. “This isn’t about her.” 

Andronikos shakes his head. “Man, I thought Sith knew better,” he mutters under his breath. "This guy ain't the brightest lightsaber in the fight, is he?"

Kryn’s hand connects with the man's face, leaving four shallow gashes where her nails slice his skin. She smacks his hand down when he lifts it to wipe at the seeping blood. “I didn’t tell you to move. It is my business because I wish to speak to the Sith responsible for such overwhelming dereliction of duty that they find _you_ acceptable, though you lack even the slightest modicum of respect in your insubordinate body!” 

Her fingers dig into his cheeks as she yanks him toward her again. “I wish to inflict punishment everywhere it is due: first on you, and then on whoever did not teach you that you do not _demand_ attention from those of us so far above your pitiful station that you may as well be buried underground, you worm. I wish to inflict punishment on the lackadaisical teacher that turns out an apprentice who does not even recognize members of the Dark Council!“ 

Kryn leans close to his ear. “Are you fond of your master?” She stops, pauses as if listening to something. “You certainly are; your attachment to her is practically a beacon!" A cruel smile tugs at one corner of her mouth. "There is nothing an inquisitor relishes more than discovering something like this. We can twist so many screws when we find out what you love." 

She pulls back and studies his face. "Know this, and this is a promise: _she_ will suffer far more than you. You, I am simply going to dispatch, because you are not worth my time. I am only speaking to you now so that you are absolutely clear why it is I’m killing you.” There’s a smell of ozone, and Kryn’s hand is wreathed in violet and white. She brings it close to his face, her voice calm and unruffled. “Tell me your master’s name. _Now_.”

At long last, Sinasar’s eyes are wide and terrified as he realizes this is a far more serious situation than he’d previously surmised. “I-it’s, uh, Darth Profanare.”

Kryn jabs a finger into his chest; he flinches backward. “Address me properly, cur.”

“It’s Darth Profanare, my lord.”

She _tut-tut_ s. “You didn’t bow. Did your master teach you _anything_?” Her heel grinds into his leg, and he bites back a groan. “Again! Try it again! See if you can get it right this time! Maybe if you can, I’ll skip one of the things I’m planning on doing to you.”

Andronikos doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. He gets so few opportunities to watch Kryn work her magic, what with her being on the Council, and he silently offers thanks to whoever might be listening that he suggested they come out for drinks tonight.

“My master is Darth Profanare, my lord.” Sinasar inclines his head as far as he’s able.

“Now see, was that so hard?” Kryn’s face relaxes and she waits until Sinasar draws a shaky breath, thinking he’s safe. “Would you like to know who you insulted this evening? Doesn’t matter, I’m going to tell you anyway. My name, Lord Sinasar, is Darth Nox. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

The color drains from his face. “M-my lord, I d-didn’t -”

“And that is the problem, isn’t it? You didn’t. Didn’t think. Didn’t care. And Sith like you cannot be allowed to fester in my Empire.” She splays a hand across his chest. “Beg for your life, wretch.”

There’s scarcely a pause before words are spilling out of his mouth. “My lord, _please_ , I didn’t realize it was you, and if I’d known I never would have insulted you, and please, if you release me I promise I’ll -”

Kryn shakes her head. “And you fail the final test. Sith do not beg, lickspit. We do not give in to fear. We do not quake at the thought of death. You’re even more of a disappointment than I originally thought. When I visit your master, she will know that I am there because of your failures.” 

His head shakes frantically as brilliant light erupts under her hand, her teeth bared in a feral smile. He cries out once before slumping to the side, dead.

The bouncer rushes over. “My lord! What -”

Kryn removes her leg and flicks a hand at the dead man. “I do not suffer insults such as his. See his body is delivered to his master tonight. Ensure that she is aware that Darth Nox will be speaking with her at the Citadel tomorrow morning, and that she knows running would be … inadvisable.”

“Yes, my lord." The bouncer bows. "It will be done as you command.”

Kryn drops back into her chair and picks up her drink. “Maybe now we can enjoy our evening without further harassment.”

“You know, Sith,” Andronikos drawls, grinning, “if this is how you react every time someone propositions you, you’re gonna get a reputation.”

[2]  
Marr shows up, caf in hand, shortly after Kryn arrives, earlier than usual, at the Citadel. Today’s helm is on the desk, a fearsome black visage crowned with jagged spikes, and she’s shuffling through a stack of flimsy, unaware of his entrance. He takes the opportunity to simply watch her for a moment before clearing his throat. “Darth Nox.”

“Darth Marr.” She looks up, indicates the caf cup. “Didn’t bring me one? How rude.”

He crosses the room and sets it in one of the few clear spaces on the desktop. “On the contrary, this is for you.”

“Oh.” She smiles up at him. “Thank you! I forgot to get one this morning.” Her office holocom chimes, the blue figure of one of the Citadel guards shimmering into existence when she taps the button. “Yes?”

“My lord, Darth Profanare was just brought in.”

“Excellent. Have her escorted to my office.” She takes a quick sip, then sets it on her desk with a regretful sigh. “I’m afraid this absolutely delicious caf will have to wait. Are you going to go, or are you going to stay?”

He gives her a long look. “What are you up to?”

Kryn puts her helm on. “Her little lord made an inexcusable ass of himself last night and got his richly-deserved punishment. I plan on finding out why she thinks she can be so lax in her training.”

“I see.” He moves behind her desk. “I’ll stay. I’ve yet to see you play the role of inquisitor, and I confess, I’m curious.”

“As you wish.” Kryn slouches back into her chair. “Observation only, please.”

He folds his arms, shifts his weight. “Of course.” 

The door slides open, admitting two guards flanking Darth Profanare, a slip of a Sith with elaborately styled ebony hair and fiery amber eyes, her mouth twisted in a snarl.

Kryn’s insouciant pose doesn’t change, but from his position behind her, Marr feels paralyzing shock explode in her chest, can _almost_ hear her gasp. Under that is an old fear: long buried, despised, its resurgence leaving liquid black hate pooling in her stomach. Her shoulders tense, her fingers still. Marr eyes the woman closely but doesn’t recognize her, and wonders who she is to Kryn.

Darth Profanare is escorted to a respectful distance from the desk, and Kryn flicks a wrist. "Leave us.“ The guards bow and swiftly exit the room, closing the door behind them.

Kryn, the hand in her lap clenched into a fist so tight that her knuckles are white, stares at the Sith for a long moment. She takes a deep breath, willing her heartbeat to slow. When she speaks, she drawls each word. "Well, well, well. Here I thought I’d never see you again, Lord Crisan.”

Behind his mask, Marr’s eyes widen. One evening, after quite a lot of alcohol, Kryn had told him about the rest of the nightmares Vitiate had visited on her.

Including her former master, who is now standing unrepentant in front of Kryn.

"My name is Darth Profanare!” the woman snaps, though her voice is hoarse.

“And mine is Darth Nox! I am a Lord of the Sith, and a Dark Councilor, and you will address me with the respect due me and my station!” A slight gesture, a lance of light from Kryn’s palm, and Profanare is on her knees, a hand clutched to her chest. Kryn’s voice is colder than Marr has ever heard it. "Do get up, Crisan. And don’t correct me again.“ The modulation from her helm gives her icy tone an even more inhuman quality. "After all, your _betters_ are within their rights to call you whatever they want, aren’t they?”

The barest flash of fear from Profanare. "Yes, my lord,“ she mutters, sullen as she climbs to her feet.

"Let's talk about your poorly trained pet, Crisan," Kryn says conversationally. "The one I had to put down." A cruel smile twists her mouth when Profanare's face crumples. "Start with why you felt you could disrespect the Empire by not teaching him even basic courtesies."

Profanare spits. "I have nothing to say to his murderer!" 

“I see respect isn’t a concept _you’re_ familiar with, either. Allow me to introduce you.” Kryn lifts a hand, abruptly closes it in a fist. There’s a muted snapping sound, and Profanare cries out, cradling a wrist. “Each time you force me to correct you, I will break something important to you.” She rises from her chair and crosses to Profanare. “Did you feel it, I wonder?” she muses, almost as though she isn’t talking to the woman at all.

“Feel what?”

“When I killed your mangy cur. When I placed my hand on his chest, like this -” she splays a hand on the woman's chest, "and lightning ripped through his heart, and he dropped dead.” She pauses, dragging a fingertip along Profanare’s jawline. “Did your throat close, suffocating all but a wail such as your slaves have never heard? Is there still crystal twinkling under the lights of your beautifully appointed azure bedroom, a razor-sharp constellation on the floor where you dropped your glass?” A feral smile bares her teeth. “Was your first thought this morning of your rent and battered heart?” 

Profanare clenches her jaw, says nothing, eyes focused on the back wall and her thoughts turned inward.

“Oh, no," Kryn breathes, savoring each word. "This morning, you thought of what he does every morning … and how he will never do it again.” A pause, and her voice turns deceptively tender, augmenting her words with deeply concealed emotion of her own. “How he’ll never again regard you with those crystalline, piercing eyes. How you’ll never again feel his hand in your hair, or his mouth on yours. How your name will never again fall from those lips as lightning crashes overhead and the two of you are a single entity. No … you thought about how he is gone, gone forever, and now you are all alone.”

Tears leave silvered tracks down the other woman’s face and she glares, not at Kryn, but at Marr. “My lord, how long are you going to let her abuse me like this?” He ignores this plea, little more than a menacing statue standing behind Kryn’s chair.

Kryn’s expression hardens. Like smoke on a windy day, the tenderness is gone. “Do not address someone until you have been spoken to, Crisan. I told you what would happen if I had to correct you again, didn’t I?” A gesture, a crack, and Profanare cries out, staggers sideways, one foot barely touching the ground. “Did you know he gave me your name in less than five minutes? That he begged for his life? That he was a disappointment right until the end?”

Profanare is breathing hard, hair falling around her face when her head drops in resignation. "Why are you dragging this out? Just kill me! That’s obviously what you’re going to do."

“You know, that phrase … _just kill me_.” Kryn taps her finger on her chin, pretending to think. “It’s very familiar to me. Oh yes … because I said it to you on a number of occasions.” She reaches up, removes her helm, and sets it on her desk, keeping her back to the other Sith. "At first, I was just planning on killing that miserable idiot's miserable master ... and then you walked in. I kept you alive for a very specific reason." 

She whirls, crosses to Profanare in two steps. Her fingers dig into the woman's bruised cheeks, yank her head up, bringing her face to face with Kryn. "Look at me."

Marr's gaze sharpens as Profanare gasps, shrinking away from Kryn. Kryn’s fingers tighten, and a thin rivulet of blood appears. "Do you remember me, Crisan?”

Her denial is barely a whisper, and obviously a falsehood.

“But, _Mistress_ ,” Kryn says, the word dripping with loathing, “it’s only been eight years since you sent me to the Academy. You _owned_ me for seven years. Surely you remember your favorite assistant! The one you gave a different name every day because she didn’t deserve a real name. The one you kept at your side at all times, to do your hair and clean your armor. The one you tried all of your gadgets out on before presenting them to the Medical Corps.” 

Pure hatred writhes in every syllable. “The one you let your friends try their alchemy on, as long as they didn’t ruin her pretty face, because after all, it’s not like she was human; your friends were so _fond_ of pointing that out.” She pauses only for a moment, and only to draw a breath. “The one you made kill the slaves you tired of once you discovered that she was Force-sensitive, to see how mean you could make her. The one you beat every time she dared feel sorry for what you made her do.”

Profanare, against all odds, glares imperiously and flicks a hand at Kryn. “Obviously you didn’t suffer that much; look at you!”

“Funny you should mention that.” Kryn folds her arms. “The _only_ reason I’m no longer dealing with the effects of your little experiments is because I was rebuilt by Rakata technology.”

“No one cares about slaves in the Empire!” she snaps. “They’re just things!”

“Oh, Crisan, did you miss the big announcement?” Kryn asks. “The Empire is changing her ways. Slavery is a thing of the past, per the decree of a united Dark Council.”

Profanare’s voice turns panicky. “But you … you owe me for your position! I made you what you are! I sent you to the Academy! Without me, you wouldn’t be on the Council!” 

“And here I thought it was my own skill and power and ability that enabled me to leave the Academy alive and accomplish what I’ve accomplished.” Kryn is unmoved and remote. “Of course, without you I might feel badly about what I’m going to do to you. But you … oh, you taught me very well indeed that such sympathy is a weakness, that I should revel in my enemies’ destruction. Now we shall see how much of your teaching I retained.”

Profanare’s eyes dart toward Marr. “My lord!”

“Do not look to me for your salvation.” His voice is ice, each word forced between gritted teeth. 

Kryn places her hand back on Profanare’s chest, avidly watching the growing lightning surrounding it, spidering across the other woman’s body. Ozone hangs heavy in the air and Kryn’s teeth are bared, somewhere between a snarl and a smile.

Profanare loses her voice, screaming silently at nothing, before Kryn lets lets her collapse in a smoking ruin. She doesn’t move, chest heaving, still looking at Profanare’s still form.

Marr steps out from behind the desk, crossing the distance between them to stand at Kryn’s side. It’s a long moment before he speaks. “Kryn, I -”

One hand snaps up. “I don’t really want to talk about it right now. Or ever.” She looks over at him, aware of how that sounds. “Not because of you. I’m just really not a fan of talking about being property.” There’s a muffled thud as she gives the body a vicious kick. “Should have made it last longer, but I was already sick of her face.” 

Falling silent, she draws in a slow, deep breath. “We have the meeting with the potentials today, yes?” She puts her helm back on and turns toward the door, hoping that her armor hides how her hands are shaking, how her heartbeat is thundering. 

“Kryn. Wait.” He catches her wrist. When she turns, he folds her into a careful embrace. “I don’t fully understand. I can’t. And I know you don’t want to talk about it. But if you ever do, you know I’m here.”

“I know.” She stands rigidly, then relaxes a little, chuckling. "You know how ridiculous this must look, with both of us head to toe in armor?" The chuckle turns into full-blown laughter, and then she’s clutching at his arm to remain upright, her mirth bearing a faint hint of hysteria. 

He can’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “I would have thought you’d like this; after all, with that spiked helm you’re almost as tall as I am.”

She gasps and gives him a halfhearted shove. “That was completely uncalled for, Darth Marr.”

“My apologies, Darth Nox,” he says, clearly not sorry.

“Oh, I’m sure.” She takes a deep breath, blows it out. “I wasn’t expecting to ever see her again and I’m kind of drained. How much time do we have before the meeting?”

He checks his chrono. “Twenty minutes. Sit down and finish your caf before we go. We already hashed out our selections; this meeting is simply to see if they accept. No need to be there overly early.” 

She nods, crossing back to her desk and falling into her chair. “Is Rictus going to be there? He still hasn’t said who he’s siding with. What’s his game?”

Marr shakes his head, settling into the chair across from her. “I don’t know, but today I will have an answer one way or another. Perhaps he’s waiting to see who is appointed to the Council, though that shouldn’t matter.”

Kryn sighs. “I suppose I ought to have the guards dispose of _that_ ,” she says, flicking a hand at Profanare’s corpse. “And I’ll have to find out what’s happening with her household.” She touches her holocom; the image of a guard appears. “Captain Dilas, I need Darth Profanare removed from my office.”

The captain nods. “Yes, my lord. We’ll be by presently to take care of it.”


	29. A Question of Succession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first order of business for the new Imperial alliance? Fill the vacant seats on the Council.

[1]  
Five of the six Councilors are assembled, each with a datapad containing an Intelligence dossier on the final candidates for the six vacant Council seats. The sixth, Rictus, is attending via holocom, as usual. Kryn, the last to sit down, scrolls through hers as she settles back into her chair. “Is there anything particular I need to know for these proceedings?” 

“We’ll talk to the candidate for a moment, offer them the position, and then if they accept they will be made a Darth and take their seat,” Mortis answers. “Not so different from when you were selected.”

“Considerably less exciting, however,” Vowrawn chuckles. “And if they all accept there's going to be a lot of standing, as it is a ceremony and it's only proper we stand when one of our own is promoted.”

“A little talking, a lot of standing and sitting. Got it.” Kryn leans back in her seat, one leg crossed over the other. “Suppose I ought to have done some warm-ups before I came down.” 

“Are we all agreed on the candidates? Nothing has changed or come to light since the meeting three days ago?” Marr asks, an unspoken warning in his voice. The meeting to narrow down the selections to Sith receptive to the new Empire and acceptable to all current Councilors had been long and arduous, full of increasingly uncivil debate, and he’s not going to slog through another ordeal like that if he doesn’t have to. When silence is his only answer, he continues. “Good. Apprentice, summon Lord Kee Youn from the waiting room.”

[2]  
“Minister Beniko, do you know why we’re here? Do any of you?” The tall, golden-skinned woman is leaning against one of the walls in the well-appointed waiting room, and she looks around at the other four people, who all shake their heads. 

“It can't be good, being summoned by the Council. What do we all have in common?” The Sith man, nearly as tall as the golden-skinned woman, has a puzzled look on his face. “I'm just a researcher. What do the rest of you do?” He smiles at Lana. “Other than you, Minister Beniko, of course.”

Before anyone can answer, the door opens, revealing a short, black-clad apprentice with a profusion of curly blonde hair. She bows to the assembled Sith. “Lord Youn, the Council will see you now.”

The Kel Dor woman, standing in a relaxed military pose near the wall, nods. “Very well.” 

She strides out the door and down the hall into the Council chambers. Coming to a stop in the center of the large room, she bows at the waist, scanning the room as she straightens, the light glinting on her eye coverings and respirator. “My lords.” Her voice is surprisingly deep and resonant; it’s the sort of voice one immediately pays attention to, Kryn notes, an excellent quality for a military instructor.

Darth Marr consults the information on his datapad, then looks up at Kee. “Kee Youn. Commander of our Advanced Warfare Course for the last seven years. Impeccable credentials and enthusiastic recommendations from everyone you work with. Noted for an exacting attention to detail and an unflinching demand for excellence. You’re a rarity in the Empire; your people don’t often leave the Republic, do they?”

“No, my lord.”

“And yet not only did you leave, you found your way to the Academy and fought three Sith to gain entrance.” He scrolls through the dossier. “Your first duty station was aboard the _Ascendant_ , handpicked by Moff Colvra?”

Kee nods, pride on her face. “Yes, my lord. I acquitted myself well, as I have done at every post I’ve been assigned. I earned my place as Advanced Warfare Commander.”

“I do not doubt it. It’s a rare position for a Sith, let alone an alien.” He sets down the datapad. “Tell me: would you ever consider leaving that post?”

She doesn’t speak immediately, and the silence spins out before she answers. “I’m not sure, my lord. I have done a lot of good for the Empire in that post, and was planning on continuing to do so until I’m no longer physically able. May I ask why you ask?”

“Darth Aruk has recommended you be appointed the head of the Sphere of Military Strategy.”

Kee looks at Aruk, who nods, then back at Marr, surprised. “I am … honored, my lords, that you would consider me worthy of this post. Would I have time to select a successor for my current post? I have a class in progress as we speak. We can have the change of command ceremony before this cycle concludes, but I’ll need a few days to find a qualified replacement.”

“I will continue to take care of the sphere until you are ready, but bear in mind that time is of the essence,” Marr says. “Additionally, this appointment is conditional on seeing your strategic ability for myself. You may take your seat, but when we have concluded our interviews, you and I will run through some scenarios so I can assess your skills.” 

“War games with you, Darth Marr?” Kee asks, a thread of excitement in her voice. “I look forward to expanding my knowledge, win or lose.”

“Rise, Councilors.” After everyone stands, he looks at Kee. “By order of the Dark Council and in light of your reputation as a master tactician,” Marr intones, “you are now Darth Tekton, head of the Sphere of Military Strategy. You will work in tandem with the Sphere of Military Offense and the Sphere of Defense of the Empire, your battle and defense plans guiding our actions and consequently the actions of the Imperial military. With us, you are ruler of all the Sith.”

The newly named Darth Tekton inclines her head.

“Take your seat,” Marr says, nodding to the empty chair between him and Darth Nox before he sits down. “You’ll find a datapad there with information on each of the other selected candidates; familiarize yourself with them. Apprentice, send in Minister Beniko.”

Tekton sits as the apprentice nods and departs; Lana enters the chamber in short order. She stops in the center of the room and bows. “My lords, you summoned me?”

“Minister, you’ve done good work for Sith Intelligence so far,” Marr says. “But the scope of your duties are too small for a woman of your talents. We would like you to take over the entirety of the sphere.”

One perfectly-groomed eyebrow arcs toward Lana’s hairline. “My lords?”

“You’re already well aware of what that entails, and would be able to choose your own replacement, of course. This simply widens your role’s scope.”

“I’ve never sought titles or advancement, my lord,” Lana says, sounding as though she’s going to decline. “I’m unsure why you’d select me for this.”

“That’s true, but you have always done what’s necessary to protect the Empire,” Kryn observes. “Even when that meant you were on the run and driven underground. And we need people who can work in a team, without letting their egos or ambitions get in the way.”

Lana is silent for a long moment, staring at the stone floor, before she finally gives one sharp nod. “Very well, my lords. I accept.”

The Councilors all stand without being told this time. “By order of the Dark Council and in light of your sterling work as a stalwart defender of the Empire,” Marr says, “you are now Darth Tenere. You are head of the Sphere of Sith Intelligence, charged with overseeing all Intelligence operations within the Empire. With us, you are ruler of all the Sith.” 

He indicates the vacant chair closest to the door, across from Vowrawn. “Take your seat. There should be a datapad there with the information on the rest of the prospects.”

Lana settles into her seat as everyone else does, peruses the information, and chuckles. “I see they left my dossier quite blank. I shall have to commend my analysts.”

“Send in Lord Casra Jylis, apprentice,” Marr says.

A Nautolan, her green skin radiant under the lights, ambles into the center of the room and bows, the silver bands on her head-tresses gleaming. “My lords,” she says, her gentle voice carrying through the room as she clasps a hand around her wrist, standing easily. She radiates calm authority, unperturbed at being summoned before the Dark Council.

“Lord Jyris,” Vowrawn says, “as you are no doubt aware, we are choosing to focus more on diplomacy than forcible expansion, and since Darth Ravage is no longer head of the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy, we require a Councilor who more completely embodies the direction we are taking the Empire.”

She nods, looking pleased. “I am excited for this new direction, my lord. It will mean interesting changes in how our offices are allowed to operate, and I look forward to seeing the Diplomatic Service really stretch its wings. Would you like me to provide you a list of suitable candidates?”

Vowrawn shakes his head. “No, my dear. We already have a suitable candidate: you.” He smiles when her mouth falls open. “It’s a near-complete consensus in your office that were you human or Sith, you would be far higher in the Diplomatic Service than you currently are. We want you to assume control of the sphere.”

Casra inclines her head. “I would consider it a singular privilege to guide the Empire’s forays into diplomacy.”

The Councilors stand again, and Marr raises his voice. “By order of the Dark Council and in light of your reputation as an unparalleled diplomat, you are now Darth Otium. You are head of the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy, responsible for all Imperial diplomatic relations, and the expansions of our borders to include all worlds who willingly wish to ally with us. With us, you are ruler of all the Sith. Take your seat, between Darth Mortis and Darth Rictus.”

Casra sits as the rest of them do, already scrolling through the datapad that had been on her chair.

“How many times have you given this speech over the years, Marr?” Kryn asks, amused.

“Enough to memorize it,” he replies without missing a beat. When Kryn doesn’t say anything else, he directs his attention to the apprentice, standing silently by the door. “Lord Leibri Oraal.”

The apprentice disappears from the room for the fourth time.

The tall, golden-skinned woman, her black and white hair intricately braided, walks into the Council chamber, making notes on her own datapad. Stylized flame tattoos adorn both her temples, and the same flame motif is worked into the metal of her armor. When it’s clear she’s not going to look up from what she’s doing, Kryn clears her throat, startling the woman. “Oh!” She shoves the datapad into a custom-made holster on her thigh and hurriedly bows. “My lords. My apologies. What would you have of me?” She speaks at a rapid clip and sounds slightly distracted, even as she’s looking from Councilor to Councilor with great curiosity.

“A Vahla,” Darth Otium says, surprised, to no one in particular. “You are committed to your changes, aren’t you?” She directs her attention to Leibri. “Vahla rarely leave their family groups,” she observes, “instead preferring to search the stars for their homeworld. What brought you to the Empire?”

“I was drawn,” Leibri says simply, shrugging. “I can’t explain it beyond that. I was called, I came, and I excelled. I can continue to look for our homeworld while serving the Empire. May even possibly cover more ground than aimlessly wandering the stars.”

Otium smiles. “Indeed.” She looks back to Marr. “Pardon me, Darth Marr. I didn’t intend to interrupt.”

He waves this off. “Your knowledge is already presenting itself; there is no need to apologize for that. Lord Oraal, your technological prowess is unrivaled. You’ve advanced Project Squall immeasurably since you were placed in charge of it. Despite your relatively short time as a Sith, your name was put forward repeatedly as an excellent candidate to head the Sphere of Technology.”

Leibri stares at Marr, pale blue eyes wide. “What?”

“Due to unexpected circumstances, the last Councilor to head that sphere has stepped down, and we require a replacement. We believe you are the best candidate to do so.”

“Don’t Councilors have to be ….” She trails off, looking from Otium to Nox to Tekton. “Huh, guess you changed that personnel policy, too. So you want me to manage technology instead of working on it?” She makes a face. “Don’t relish the idea of becoming a manager, really.”

“On the contrary, Lord Oraal, you will be involved in every technological project within the Empire’s purview,” Mortis says. “You’ll also work closely with the Sphere of Biotic Science, as your spheres are the joint leaders of the Imperial Science Bureau.”

Leibri drums her fingers on the datapad resting against her thigh, head tilted as though she’s doing mental calculations. “Hmm. All right. I’ll do it. I’ve some good projects I haven’t managed to get any traction on, as well as ideas to streamline current ones.”

Everyone stands. Kryn offers silent thanks that she chose to wear a helm; she can make a face every time she has to haul herself out of her chair and no one will know. 

“By order of the Dark Council and in light of your technological prowess, you are now Darth Nomas. You are head of the Sphere of Technology, charged with the scientific advancement of the Empire, in concert with the Sphere of Biotic Science. With us, you are ruler of all the Sith.” Marr points to the chair next to Darth Rictus’ hologram. “Take your seat.”

As she sits, he looks to the apprentice. “Last in the waiting room. Lord Rakair Qinjat.” He looks over at Kryn as the apprentice departs. “This selection was your suggestion?”

Kryn nods. “Yes.”

He can’t keep quite all of the surprise out of his voice. “Even given -?” He stops, not wanting to divulge more of Kryn’s history than is proper.

“Yes.” Kryn nods. “My biases should not stand in the way of qualified candidates, and Lord Qinjat’s intellectual prowess is unparalleled.”

“I’ll pass this one to you, then,” Marr says.

A regal-looking Sith, straight-backed, strides into the Council chambers and bows, his voice mellifluous. “My lords.”

“Lord Qinjat.” Kryn inclines her head in greeting. “How is your research going?”

He straightens hurriedly, looking down the row of chairs. “I know that voice. Is that …?” He trails off, then shakes his head. “My lord, we’ve made some breakthroughs in recent years that the Science Bureau is perfecting.” He stops for a moment, considering his words. “Though with these changes the Council has been making I’m unsure how we’ll go about testing our inventions.”

Kryn dismisses this with a wave of her hand. “You’ll pay your test subjects, of course, just like your researchers are paid. With the Empire’s economy still shaky after Ziost, the more credits we can get into it, the better. Barring that, the Empire is never short of convicted criminals. You’re an intelligent man, I expect you’ll make do.”

“As you say, my lord. May I ask what the Council wishes of me?”

“As you are no doubt aware, the Sphere of Biotic Science has been lacking a head since Acharon died on Corellia.” She waits until he nods before continuing. “We would like you to take his place. You will be working closely with Darth Nomas to run the Imperial Science Bureau.”

“I accept,” he says with no hesitation. “My life is the Empire’s, and if this how I can best serve, this is what I’ll do.”

As the Councilors all stand, Kryn’s sigh is audible this time.

“By order of the Dark Council and in light of your academic reputation,” Marr says, “you are now Darth Callidus. You are head of the Sphere of Biotic Science, responsible for maintaining and expanding the Empire’s alchemical and biotic studies. You oversee the Imperial Medical Corps, and jointly manage the Imperial Science Bureau with the Sphere of Technology. With us, you are ruler of all the Sith.” He nods at the empty chair next to him. “Take your seat.”

There’s a short pause in the proceedings as the apprentice activates the chamber’s holocom and swiftly punches in a frequency, stepping back as the call activates.

“Lord Ejahn.” The Twi’lek woman’s voice is brusque, permanently raspy from shouting battlefield commands. Stark tattoos cut a swath across her delicate features and along her lekku, increasing the surprising fearsomeness of her appearance. “I don’t have much time, my lords; we’re preparing to go planetside.”

Marr’s response is just as terse. “You’ve been selected to become the head of the Sphere of Military Offense. The Council wishes to know if you accept the post or will remain in the field.”

Ejahn gives no outward sign that she’s surprised by this offer. “I won’t be back to the homeworld for roughly sixteen days, if all goes well with this operation.”

“This is not an issue. If you accept we will promote you now and then we shall speak in person when you arrive back on Dromund Kaas.”

“Very well.” Ejahn nods. “I accept, Darth Marr.”

Everyone is barely out of their seat before Marr is speaking. “By order of the Dark Council and in light of your reputation as a combat specialist,” Marr says, “you are now Darth Atroxa. You are head of the Sphere of Military Offense. You will work closely with the Sphere of Military Strategy to coordinate any offensive military campaigns. Be advised that your role is in a somewhat transitory state as we restructure the Empire; you will be directing it, and its effect on the Empire, alongside the rest of the Council. With us, you are ruler of all the Sith.” 

Darth Atroxa looks off camera as someone shouts launch orders. “I look forward to shaping the Empire with all of you.” She reaches toward the holocom, touches a button on her end, and disconnects.

Councilors break into smaller conversations as the apprentice steps forward to shut down the holocom, and Kryn can’t quite squash a chuckle. “Finally, Darth Marr got someone else who’s a hundred and ten percent business. You two will get on famously, I can see it already.”

Vowrawn tries to cover up his laugh with a cough; Marr ignores both of them, already moving on to the next order of business. “Rictus. I need your answer. I cannot allow you unfettered access to the Council if you are not part of this alliance.”

The room falls silent.

“And if I choose not to be?” the hooded hologram asks. “How will you remove me from my seat?”

“No doubt you are aware of the Empire’s Wrath, are aware of her reputation. She will be most interested in a rogue Councilor.”

Rictus is still as a statue. “Very well, Marr. You have my backing.” A pause. “For now.”

Marr folds his arms. “Rictus, you and I have been colleagues a long time, and you know I respect you.” His voice turns hard. “But if you turn on us, I will not hesitate to bring the full fury of the Empire against you. I hope I am clear in this matter. I will not allow an enemy of the Empire to stand.”

“Your reputation is not unknown to me, Marr,” Rictus snaps. “You’ve made your point. I will see where you take the Empire.”

“Thank you, Rictus. I would prefer to have you on our side than work at odds.” Marr looks around. “Does anyone else have any other business?”

Everyone shakes their head.

“New Councilors, feel free to approach any of the rest of us if you have any questions. It is in all our interests to make your transitions as smooth as possible. Your offices should all be ready for your arrivals. This meeting is dismissed.”

As everyone stands, he turns. “Darth Tekton, do you have time now?”

She nods. “I do, Darth Marr. My current cycle won’t finish their jungle warfare training for the next two days. You caught me in a rare free moment.”

“We will conduct your trial now, then. I will meet you in my office.”

Darth Callidus makes his way along the row of chairs. “Darth Nox, may we speak privately?”

Kryn regards him for a long moment. “Yes, Callidus. I was about to find you; there is business of import we must discuss.”

[3]  
Kryn’s office door closes behind Callidus, and he follows her to her desk, waiting for her to motion to one of the empty chairs before he sits.

“I have to say, Nox, I’m surprised you didn’t block my nomination, given my work with Darth Profanare.”

Kryn takes off her helm, sets it on the desk, and props her feet up next to it. “Not only did I not block your nomination, I was the one who nominated you. Speaking of Profanare, all of her holdings are now yours. Do with them as you will, within the auspices of the new directives of the Council.” 

“Profanare won’t be happy you’re taking her property,” Callidus says, though he’s settled back into his chair and doesn’t look overly concerned about the matter. 

Kryn’s boots hit the floor with a thud, and she leans forward, resting her laced fingers on the expansive desk. “Profanare is no longer alive enough to voice an opinion.” A pause as she evaluates him. “I do hope that by property, you don’t mean her former slaves, Rakair.” She shakes her head. “Pardon me. Callidus.”

“No, I was only referring to her land, house, ventures. Property.” He lifts his hands, palms up, conciliatory. “I hope that what Profanare did to you won’t color our working relationship, Darth Nox.”

“You were, as I recall, at least somewhat humane. You didn’t torture people unnecessarily. You cared about your research more than you cared about how cruel you could be. More than the others, I thought you would be receptive to the changes we’re making.” Her tone turns hard. “‘Was I wrong?”

“No, you weren’t wrong,” he says, shaking his head for emphasis. “I meant what I said in the Council chamber. I intend to use this post to serve the Empire.”

“Good. In that case, I look forward to working with you, Darth Callidus.”

“And I you, Darth Nox.” Callidus stands. “I should go find my office and begin meeting my staff.”

Kryn nods, already beginning to look through the files on her desk. “I’m sure we’ll be speaking again soon.”


	30. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Council seats are full for the first time in years. Vitiate is in hiding. Kryn and Marr take this opportunity to get away for a few days for a much-needed vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally published as a standalone fic, but I love the character development, the demonstrations of trust, and the chance for Kryn and Marr to get away for a richly deserved moment of peace, and decided it belonged in the main story.

[1]  
Marr sneaks another glance at Kryn, sitting in the co-pilot seat of the _Adamant_. She’s got her feet propped on the panel in front of her, face alight with excitement even though she’s pretending to read a book. He knows she’s going to ask again. He gives it five minutes.

It’s three.

“Where did you say we’re going, again?” she asks, as though it’s just occurred to her that she doesn’t remember. She sets her datapad in her lap and gives him a look of faux innocence that contains precious little innocence at all.

“I didn’t.” He’s known the way to their destination for decades, but he’s determined to remain straight-faced under the ensuing onslaught and directs his attention to the map. 

“But you _should_.” Her boots hit the deck with a thud and then she’s out of her chair and standing next to his, bent at the waist. She captures his earlobe between her teeth, dragging her fingernails along his forearm. “Tell me,” she murmurs in his ear, her breath warm on his skin.

He hisses a breath through his teeth. “You … are incorrigible.”

“It’s one of my finest qualities, and you love it.” She gently turns his head, kisses him full on the mouth, long and slow and sweet. “Please?”

She tastes like cherry and mint, and it almost works. 

He almost gets out of the chair, almost hauls her up into his arms, almost carries her back into the cabin to kiss her until she melts underneath him. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, fingers curling around the armrests of the chair. “Kryn, _no_. I’ve told you repeatedly, it’s a surprise. Stop trying to ruin it.”

She heaves a disgusted sigh. “Fine.” She stands, drops back into the co-pilot seat, picks her datapad up off the deck. “You’re supposed to let seduction work on you, you know,” she says, offended at the mere idea that it doesn’t.

He refuses to admit just how much it works on him. “But so few people ever defy you,” he says, “and you love to extol the pleasures of defying _me_ , so I have to return the favor now and then.” He laughs when she makes a face at him. “At any rate, you’ll discover our destination soon enough; we’re almost there.”

[2]  
They drop down onto Toprawa, the night sky above them blanketed in stars and the forest below them blanketed in snow, and he guides the ship into a narrow passage whose entrance lifts up out of the ground. It angles downward, dimly illuminated, before turning upward again; after a time, it opens up on an underground hangar. He sets the ship down and turns to look at her. “We’re here.”

“I’m assuming there’s a passageway leading somewhere spectacular,” she says as she stands and stretches. “Vacationing in a bunker wasn’t really how I pictured spending the holiday.”

“It wasn't? I suppose we ought to go home, then.” He pulls on his coat before shouldering his bag, a military-issue duffel. 

Kryn gives him a withering look. “I thought I was supposed to be the snarky one,” she mutters as she dons her own outerwear - a sleek black coat, matching hat, and a riotously colorful knitted scarf - then picks up her two red suitcases. “Lead the way.”

They make their way off the ship, cross the hangar to an elevator, and rumble upward. The doors open on a small storeroom; Marr slips past her and punches in a code on the far wall. 

The door slides back, revealing a dark, quiet, and extremely cold cabin. Kryn shivers and blows warm air into her cupped hands. “Where are we, Hoth?”

He laughs. “Not quite. There’s firewood stacked outside; I’ll be right back.” He unlocks the front door and opens it as little as possible, but snow still blows in, dusting Kryn’s boots before he can get it shut behind him.

While he’s gone, Kryn starts looking around, turning lights on as she goes. The cabin is roomier than she initially thought, well-constructed and weathertight, one large room save for a row of doors on the back wall. All the furniture arranged near the fireplace is older, handmade, and blankets are draped over the back of both chairs and the large overstuffed couch. A small but well-equipped kitchen is in the opposite corner, next to a cozy-looking breakfast nook. The three doors along the wall reveal a large, recently stocked pantry, the door they came through, and a much nicer ‘fresher than she expected, though she supposes she shouldn’t be so surprised, given Marr’s love affair with fancy ‘freshers. 

A set of rough-hewn stairs leads to an open second floor bedroom, looking out over the living area and the fireplace and bordered by a sturdy wooden railing. She drops her luggage at the foot of the large bed and offers a silent prayer that this one isn’t as uncomfortable as the one on the _Indomitable_ before she gingerly pushes on it.

It’s deep and soft and amazing, and a wide grin spreads across her face before she turns around and flings herself backward onto it, her hair fanning out around her. She sits up as she hears the front door opening, and goes over to lean on the railing.

Marr comes in, stomping his boots and shaking snow out of his hair, and Kryn’s hands still midway through removing her scarf as she watches him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He deposits his armload of firewood next to the fireplace and shrugs off his coat; Kryn turns and tosses her coat and hat and scarf onto the bed, then makes her way downstairs. He has a roaring fire going in short order, nodding in satisfaction as heat begins to seep through the cabin. 

“So how’d you find this place?” Kryn asks, following him over to the kitchen and slipping onto one of the stools set up next to the counter.

“I didn’t find it. At least, not in the condition it's in now,” he says, bustling around. He sets a pot on the stove, rummages through cupboards, pulls out ingredients. “I built it, shortly after I became a Councilor.”

Kryn raises an eyebrow. “Just randomly decided you wanted an isolated cabin in the middle of nowhere?”

He sets two mugs between them on the counter before turning back to what he’s making. The aroma of chocolate wafts through the air. “Not exactly.” He gives her a perfunctory scowl over his shoulder at her. “Full of questions today, I see.”

“You haven’t told me much of anything about when you were young and brash and as yet ungrumped by politics and seriousness,” she says lightly, “and now I find out you apparently had a stint as a carpenter. I’m curious!”

“One cabin does not a carpenter make.” Bottles clink against one another as Marr looks through the assortment on the counter. “But very well.” He adds a generous dollop of a caf-flavored liqueur to the bottom of each mug, then fills them with cocoa, stirs them both, and drops the spoon into the sink. “Come on, let’s go sit on the couch.”

She settles next to him, brings the mug close to her face and inhales deeply. “This smells delicious,” she murmurs, hands wrapped around it, letting the warmth seep through her still-chilly fingers as she angles to face him more fully “All right, tell me the adventure of Darth Marr the Cabin Builder.”

He takes a hearty swallow of cocoa. “A year before my trip to Dromund Fels, I met a woman, Sya. We grew … quite close.” As he’d expected, Kryn’s whole face lights up, and he holds up a hand when she opens her mouth, stopping her before she can start peppering him with questions. 

She closes her mouth and sits back, though she can’t quite wipe the smile off her face. “Sorry. I just wasn't expecting _that_ particular twist. Continue with the adventure of Darth Marr, the Cabin Builder With a Girlfriend.”

Four decades after the fact, he muses, he’d have thought it'd be easier to tell this story. He's disappointed to discover that's not true. “Shortly after I became a Councilor - less than a month after, actually - she decided to challenge me for my seat.”

“What?” Kryn exclaims, affronted. “That’s not how you’re supposed to do things!” She heaves a disgusted sigh.

“Kryn, you know as well as I do that Sith, as a rule, dearly love sneaky power plays.”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s stupid,” she snaps. “You two were - you’re supposed to -” She makes a face. Falls silent. Her anger melts away as she looks at him with slowly dawning realization. “Oh, Matthius. You _loved_ her. And she betrayed you.”

“We fought. And she lost,” he says simply.

There is much unsaid but understood in those last two words. _She lost. She died. I killed her before she could kill me_. Kryn, for once in her life, is disinclined to be flippant; she sets her mug on the squat coffee table in front of them and lays her hand on his forearm. “I … I’m sorry.” It doesn’t begin to convey everything she wants to say. _I'm sorry she betrayed you. I'm sorry she hurt you. I'm sorry I'll never get the chance to make her pay for it_.

“Don’t be. She chose her fate.” He shrugs, having come to terms with everything about Sya and their relationship and her death long ago. “I decided I was done with entanglements like that.” The look he directs at Kryn is mildly exasperated. “Well, until you strolled into my life and threw everything into complete disarray.”

Kryn offers a halfassed bow. “You're welcome.”

“So I took some time after the war ended, came out here. Found the remnants of an old cabin - nothing more than a foundation and a few boards - and decided to build my own.” He looks around, still pleased with his work. “It was surprisingly therapeutic. Had the hangar added a few years later, but I stopped coming out here after awhile, other than to make sure it was still in one piece and the electronics were still operational; I thought it best to have a fallback plan, just in case. And I thought it would be a good place to spend a quiet holiday. I’d say we’ve earned it.”

She gives him a shrewd look. “Is this where you went when you had to leave ‘on business’ a week ago, sneaking out in the dead of night, calling from undisclosed and indiscernible locations? Bryasere wouldn’t even _hint_ at where you went. It was all very frustrating.”

He nods. “I had to stock the pantry, make sure everything was in working order, get rid of the layers of dust.”

“So you’ve been planning this for awhile.” She scoots over and curls up against him, snuggling closer when he wraps one arm around her shoulders.

“You needed some time away from everything after you got back from Ziost.” He kisses the top of her head. “I just had to wait for things to calm down enough for the trip to be feasible.”

She plucks his cocoa out of his hands and puts it next to hers, then climbs into his lap, her knees planted on each side of his hips. “So it's just you and me and no interruptions for the next …?”

“Five days.” He rests his hands on her waist, smiling when she can't quite repress an excited bounce. “I think the Empire can handle us being gone for one holiday.”

She cradles his face in her hands. “How _marvelous_ ,” she whispers just before her mouth meets his. Her tongue sweeps into his mouth, warm and cocoa-sweet, before she pulls back. “You and me and all this privacy.”

His wraps an arm around her, pulling her flush against him, already stirring underneath her. “Indeed. What should we do with such an unparalleled opportunity?”

A sudden grin blooms on her face. “I brought a bag of decorations. We should decorate!”

Unadulterated shock widens his eyes. “That is … not what I expected you to say,” he says, no small measure of disappointment in his voice. A pause as what she said sinks in. “Wait. You packed _decorations_? You didn't even know where we were going, Kryn.”

“Just in case!” She kisses him again. “So we can put up some twinkly lights, turn off all these other too-bright ones, and ah, see how sturdy this couch is.”

“Now see, that sounds more like you.” He grazes the curve of her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “Go get your decorations.”

She's off his lap and upstairs in a flash, and returns with a suitcase full of lights and tinsel and ornaments, already eyeing the four large windows that cover nearly three-quarters of the front wall of the cabin. “All right, these should be long enough for the windows,” she says, pulling out carefully wrapped bundles of lights. “I'm going to need a hammer, some nails, and your shoulders.”

“Toolbox is in the closet we came through,” he says, picking up his cocoa and making no move to get off the couch.

She trots off again, back in short order with a hammer and a small box full of nails. “All right. Hold this.” She drapes the rolls of lights over one of his wrists like bracelets. “And these.” She holds out the hammer and nails until he sets his cup down and takes them, then slips around the back of the couch and clambers up on his shoulders. “Okay. To the windows!”

“I feel obligated to point out how ridiculous this is,” he says, trying - and mostly failing - to sound serious as he stands.

She can’t quite bite back a surprised squeak when she tilts backward, and it melts into laughter as she leans forward to clutch at his shirt and he wraps an arm around her thigh to steady her. Once she's sure she's not going to topple over, she rakes his hair back and kisses his forehead. “I know you do, and I’m glad you take that obligation seriously.” They make their way over to the first window, and he passes her the hammer, then a nail, and then the end of the string of lights once she’s got the nail secured, taking a sideways step sideways each time she nudges him. 

It occurs to him that he's not sure he'd have believed it if the Force had shown him this unfolding scene when he'd built the cabin all those years ago: Kryn up on his shoulders, her hair streaming down her back, nails tightly clamped between her lips and her feet hooked behind his back to steady herself, humming as she hangs lights with sheer exuberant enjoyment.

He wonders, as he looks out the window at the softly falling snow, how he'd have reacted the afternoon she sauntered into the Council chamber and killed Thanaton, if all he could see in his mind’s eye was this little snippet of serenity.

“Hey.” She leans down, cards her fingers through the hair at his temple, smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Lost in thought?”

“A little. What did I miss?” He tilts his head back and catches her gaze. 

She grins, wide and sunny, and kisses him. “These two windows are done.”

The third and fourth windows go more quickly than the first two, and soon lights are draped around all four window frames. She splays her hands on his chest as she kisses his cheek. “See how much more festive it is in here?”

He makes his way around the cabin, flicking light switches, and soon the cabin is lit only by firelight and twinkling holiday lights. “Indeed.” He shifts her around into his arms, then deposits her on the couch, kneeling between her legs, slipping his hands underneath her shirt. “Now, I do believe we had plans.”

[3]  
They spend most of their first full day of vacation being blissfully, sinfully lazy, watching fat flakes of snow swirl against the skylight above them, only leaving the bed to add more logs to the fire and fetch snacks and caf - and later, booze.

“Tell me about your family, Kryn,” he says, absentmindedly running his fingers through her disheveled hair as they lay burrowed under the comforter in a tangle of limbs, the room around them warm with late afternoon sunlight.

She’s silent for a moment; when she speaks her voice is far away, lost in memories as she tells him of Fardon and Sai’rah. How Sai’rah stepped in and saved eight year old Kryn from the gang of Rodians the young Miraluka had goaded into a fury. How Fardon encouraged her love of reading. How they were both too tenderhearted for a place like Nar Shaddaa, and that’s how they ended up taking in eight scrubby, feisty orphan girls and fashioning a family out of them.

“Raitlia was already there when Sai’rah found me, and even back then she was serious. Sai’rah used to have to step and tell me to lay off. One time she didn’t and Raitlia decked me. I deserved it.” Kryn laughs. “I wasn’t surprised when I found out she was in the military, and even less surprised when I heard she was in Havoc Squad. She’s too intense for anything else.”

“So how many of your sisters have I met? Spoken to, that is.”

“Let’s see ….” She thinks back, ticking them off on her fingers as she combs through her memory. “Five.”

“Five?” He can’t keep the surprise out of his voice. 

“Lysch, obviously. Rafana and Raitlia when we got the codex.” She grins. “Nice job riling up Raitlia, by the way. The look on her face after you read her the riot act and left was priceless. You met Ca’ii at my house the first time you came over, though she introduced herself as Jeyn. And Semiri’s the Jedi we were working with on Yavin Four.”

He can’t contain his scowl. “That mouthy, obnoxious ….” He stops, chuckles ruefully. “Never mind. Put that way, it should have been obvious. I’m surprised the Order tolerates it.”

Kryn pantomimes telling him a secret. “Rumor has it she and the Order have been drifting apart of late. I know for a fact she hasn’t left my facility on Yavin Four since Ziost.”

One eyebrow arches toward his hairline. “I’m surprised a Jedi, estranged from the Order or no, would assist in your research.”

“Oh, she’s not assisting with research.” A sly smile pulls at Kryn’s mouth. “Now, you didn’t hear this from me, which means you don’t know it at all, but she’s there as, ah … _moral_ support for Scourge.” She wags an eyebrow. “If you take my meaning.”

Marr processes this. “Kryn, are you telling me that the Republic’s vaunted Hero of Tython and the disgraced Emperor’s former Wrath are lovers?”

“Yes!” She all but giggles outright. “They are indescribably cute. It breaks so many rules. I _love_ it.”

He shakes his head. “And the other two?”

“Liinz is the one who was shouting about Darth Tormen the night they were all standing around eavesdropping on our call. She’s also our go-to for tasteless yet hilarious innuendo, which of course annoys Lysch to no end, and a bounty hunter of some renown, though she prides herself on staying pretty neutral. And Zal’shana is a Jedi, a skilled diplomat, I’ve heard. She’s the most insular of the eight of us. We don’t cross paths too often outside of the times the eight of us get together.”

He thinks back to the chaotic scene at the spaceport the day after Ziost was destroyed. “So … Zal’shana, she’s the Twi’lek, yes? I remember seeing her with a Republic soldier. And Liinz was the taller woman with the spiked hair and red armor.”

“Paying attention, I see.” Kryn smiles, pleased. “Yes, that’s right.” She props herself up on her elbows, trying for nonchalant and missing it by at least a parsec. “I don’t suppose you have the ingredients for cookies here. If you do, though, we should make cookies.”

He laughs outright. Kryn has perfected the art of pretend-casually asking him to cook things. “I do, in fact. But to be on the safe side, perhaps you should just … observe. Maybe from outside. It would be a shame if the cabin burned down because you were too close to the kitchen.”

Her brows draw together as she glares at him. “Very well.” She kicks the comforter all the way off the end of the bed, studiously not looking at how he’s sprawled naked next to her as she rolls off of her side, because if she pays too much attention to _that_ she’ll just end up back in bed with him, and she’s got a point to prove.

He’s tempted to take it back, but a perverse part of him wants to see just how far she’s going to run with this. He slides off the bed, pulling on pants and socks before he turns to watch her button her trousers with a little more force than absolutely necessary. She yanks a sweater over her head, then sweeps her coat, hat, and scarf over one arm.

“Well, I don’t know why you’re not making cookies yet,” she says, her nose in the air as she flounces down the stairs, her hair bouncing with each step.

He catches her just as she’s shoving her hand into her glove. “Kryn, you don’t have to go outside.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to burn down your cabin just with my mere presence,” she says sweetly. “I’ll sit outside and watch you through the twinkly, festive, beautifully lit windows.” She reaches behind her, hauls the door open, and stomps out, slamming it behind her. After a moment she appears at the window, strands of hair already escaping her hat and waving in the brisk breeze.

He supposes he’ll have to go convince her to come in, though he’s not entirely dismayed at the idea of simply throwing her over his shoulder and bringing her inside. 

And possibly back upstairs.

Kryn watches curiously as he disappears back up the stairs, surprised when he reappears dressed to come outside. Struck by an idea, she leans down and scoops up a handful of snow, grinning when she realizes it’s just wet enough to create a really good snowball. She’s just finished packing it together when the door swings open, and he steps outside into the crisp afternoon air. “Kryn, come insi-”

The snowball explodes when it connects with the side of his head, dusting his hair with white.

She claps her hand over her mouth, which has fallen open in shock. “Oh!” Laughter rings across the yard and she slumps against the side of the cabin holding her sides. “I thought I was going to miss!” She hitches in a breath. “Gotcha!”

He jams his hands into his coat pocket, yanking a pair of gloves out. “Retaliation will be swift and decisive,” he rumbles. “I cannot allow such an insult to stand.”

She only half-hears him, already looking around the yard. It’s been cleared of trees all the way down to the small dock extending over the frozen lake, leaving precious little to work with, so she pivots smartly and runs for the corner of the cabin, taking cover around the side of the building. 

The yard falls silent as they both set to preparations.

She’s the first to attack, launching a salvo toward where he’s quickly built up a short wall of densely packed snow, sending him diving behind it and reaching for his stockpiled ammunition. Things quickly degenerate into a free-for-all, a blizzard of projectiles hurled with little thought for aim, pulverized against trees, the cabin, and each other amid a flurry of increasingly cutting taunts.

He hunkers down and waits out her latest barrage, then pokes his head over his wall and whips a snowball straight at her. If he’d aimed better, it would have hit her in the chest like he intended, but he’s in a rush and it bursts upon contact with her forehead, sending her stumbling backward and shouting expletives.

His eyes are drawn to the snow that’s collected on the roof of the cabin, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to regret what he’s about to do, but he promised retribution and he’s determined to deliver it. A flick of his wrist, and the snow cascades off the roof and on top of Kryn.

Her side of the yard grows very quiet.

“Kryn?”

A faint yet vehement exclamation of _schutta_ floats to him on the breeze as she digs her way out and he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. When she finally pops out, her hat is gone and she’s dusted in white from her crimson hair, vivid against the snow, to her boots. He looks up just in time to see her fling her arms outward, sending a wave of Force energy at the large evergreen overhanging his position. He tucks into a combat roll and barely avoids being buried.

He leaps to his feet, a cocky smirk curving his mouth. “Missed me.”

She growls, then becomes a blur, powdery flakes flying out behind her as she speeds across the open yard. She drops her shoulder, augments her strength with the Force, and catches him right around the waist, tackling him into the snow. 

He doesn’t even have time to register what a well-executed tackle it is before snow is flying up around them and he hits the ground, knocking the wind out of him. He’s gasping as she scrambles backward; she almost gets away before he wraps a gloved hand around her wrist and yanks her back down on top of him. “Not so fast, _qilitzarai_ ,” he chuckles, eyes sparkling. “Where do you think you’re going? You’re not supposed to use smashball moves in a snowball fight!” 

His voice is still wheezy and she laughs at him, only half-trying to squirm out of his grasp, grinning at how the snow is dusted in his hair and his cheeks are flushed. “You started it; you’re not supposed to cause avalanches during a snowball fight, either!” She drops down close enough to brush her lips against his. “Let’s just stay here,” she says impulsively. “The Empire’s in good hands. We don't need to go back.”

“Kryn, you would go crazy in less than a month sitting out in the woods doing nothing.” He lets go of her wrist and cradles her face. “You would, and I would too, and you know it.”

She sighs, leaning into his touch. “I know. But I can daydream.” She’s silent for a moment, deep in thought, but shivers before she can say anything else. She stands, then extends her hand to him and helps him up. “Come on. You owe me some cookies.”

She links her arm around his as they cross the yard back to the cabin; her hands are nimble on first her coat buttons, then his, and she discards both in a heap next to the closed door. “You're cold and wet. Better get you into the shower,” she says. She doesn't intend it to sound like she's propositioning him, but that's definitely how it comes out.

He holds up her water-darkened hair, watching it drip on the floor. “You better join me. After all, you were buried in snow and must be freezing.”

They leave a staggered trail of clothing from the door to the ‘fresher, discarded in an increasing hurry. He fumbles one-handed at the knobs while divesting her of her underwear, and in a moment steam is billowing through the small room. She steps in, pulling him after her, humming quiet sounds of pleasure as warm water courses over them. 

There's not a lot of room to maneuver and he wastes no time, bracing one foot against the side of the shower stall before he cups her ass and lifts her up. His eyes flutter closed as he eases into her, breath caught in his throat when she's wrapped around him. 

“Feeling -” She bites her lip, rakes her nails down his arms. “Oh, _yes_. Feeling warmer?”

“You could say that,” he murmurs, bending his head. She bares the smooth column of her neck to his questing mouth, a low moan falling from her lips as he draws delicate skin between his teeth. He inspects the resulting red mark, kisses it gently. Leaves another on her collarbone. Kisses that one as well.

Kryn arches her back, pressing too-sensitive peaked nipples to his chest, leveraging her heels against the small of his back to continue the slow, deliberate pulsing of her hips while he's otherwise distracted. He groans each time she takes all of him, the sound muffled against her skin, and soon he buries one hand in her hair and thrusts back against her, forcing a startled gasp from her.

She throws an arm around his neck, clinging to him, and he can feel a smile playing on her face as she presses her lips to his ear. “Don't fall this time.”

His expression turns serious, and he grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Still your tongue, Councilor.” 

She sees the stern veneer crack, just for a moment, when his cheek twitches; she jerks out of his grasp and gives him an impish, impertinent look. “Make me … Councilor.”

He does, claiming her mouth with the same fierceness with which he claims the rest of her until they’re both flushed and sighing and sated.

They don’t make cookies that night.

[4]  
The mixer is humming as Kryn carefully levels off a measuring cup full of flour.

“I’m just dumping powder into a bowl, you know. You don’t have to hover.” Kryn doesn't turn to look at Marr, standing just behind her, but she knows he can see the scowl on her face. 

“Yes, but -”

She points the flour-covered spoon over her shoulder, indicating the stools. “Go sit over there. You can help, but only from over there. This is ridiculous.” She makes a face. “See, now you have _me_ saying things are ridiculous. I sound like you. Don't do that to me; it's cruel.”

“But ….” He wraps his arms around her, pulling her flush against him. “If I'm all the way over there, I can’t do this.” He leans forward, trails kisses along her jawline.

The only sign that she's affected at all is a slight gasp. She clenches her hands, and then her chin lifts, giving her an imperious air. “Go,” she says, slightly strangled.

“That's cold, Kryn,” he grumbles, refilling his caf cup before dropping onto a stool. “You're supposed to let seduction work on you, you know.”

She can't help but laugh at that. “It _does_ work on me, and you damn well know it.” She sets the measuring cup down and turns, hands on her hips, ineffective glare on her face. “That's why you're sitting over there, so you can’t distract me while I’m trying to make cookies for the first time.” 

“Speaking of cookies, your butter and sugar should be done,” he says after he checks his chrono. “See if they're fluffy yet.”

Kryn peers into the mixing bowl. “They are.”

“Add your eggs while you get the rest of the dry ingredients together.”

She flaps a piece of flimsy at him. “You do remember you handed me the recipe, correct? I promise, I can follow instructions.” She picks up the small bowl containing the eggs, muttering under her breath, and dumps them into the mixing bowl.

“There is precious little evidence throughout our extensive association that corroborates that statement.” He hides his smirk behind his cup.

“I’m not talking to you until I put this dough in the fridge,” she sniffs. He opens his mouth to say something when she goes to dump all of the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl, but closes it when she holds up a hand. 

As he expects, she tips the whole bowl in and flour goes everywhere, including all over Kryn. 

“I was trying to tell you,” he says, trying to sound neutral and failing. “But you wanted me to sit here and be quiet.” His lip twitches as she pivots to glare at him, flour shaking loose and drifting out of her hair. “I have to admit, you’re not very intimidating when you’re covered in flour.” When she still doesn’t say anything, he takes a deep breath and quashes his laughter. “How about I make the dough, and we can both cut out cookies and frost them? Just … no cooking for you.”

She slowly makes her way around the counter, careful not to dislodge flour and stopping a step away from him. “You’d make them after I made such a mess of the kitchen?” she asks, a hint of a tremor in her voice.

He eyes her curiously. “Of course.”

“Oh, _thank_ you!” she exclaims in exaggerated gratitude, flinging herself into his lap and throwing her arms around his neck, grinning widely. 

This hyperbolic and disingenuous display achieves its intended effect: covering him in a generous dusting of flour. Marr brushes at his forehead and gives her a baleful stare. “Really?”

“It just wouldn’t be fair if I was the only one,” she says, laughing. There’s flour in his hair, on his clothes, around the chair. “I didn’t want you to feel left out.” 

He growls at her, but there’s no intensity in it. “I commend you on your sense of fairness, though I question your commitment to cookies, as I’m the only one here who can make them and you’ve just chosen to all but challenge me to toss you across the room.”

She swipes her fingers across his cheek and kisses the spot she’s cleaned off. “If I told you I was sorry, would you believe me?” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “If you’re apologizing, it’s only to further your own agenda.”

“I could make it sound sincere.” She considers. “Probably.”

“Doubtful.” He makes a halfhearted attempt to get up. “If you want cookies, you’re going to have to get off my lap.”

“Oh, very well,” she says brightly, ruffling his hair before she slides off his lap. “I’ll sweep up while you make the dough.”

Two and a half hours later, they’re back in the kitchen, the mixer once again humming.

“You know, if you keep eating the cookies, there’s no point in my making frosting,” Marr says, not looking away from the mixing bowl as Kryn steals another still-warm cookie from the rack, her fourth. “If you take another one, I’m going to have to banish you to the living room.”

“You know, if you sit around and wait for the cookies to cool, there’s no point in being excited about fresh-baked ones,” she repeats in somewhat the same tone, albeit muffled by the cookie she’s stuffed in her mouth so he can’t take it away from her. “Come on. I know you’re at a good part in your book, I could only wheedle one word answers out of you last night. Let’s just take these and go sit in the living room and read.” She checks to make sure he’s focused on frosting, then reaches for another cookie.

“Kryn.” The single syllable is sharp.

She snatches her hand back and clears her throat, trying to sound innocent. “Yes?”

“It’s like you want me to bind you to that chair.”

“I hadn’t,” she says, trying to ignore the sudden twinge of heat low in her stomach, “but now that you mentioned it that is _such_ an appealing mental picture. And all I have to do to get this reward is eat another cookie?” Her hand is already outstretched.

He turns, picks up the cooling rack, and moves it to the open space next to him on the counter, then looks over his shoulder at her, a cunning expression on his face. “If you want me to ever bind you to anything, you’ll refrain from eating any more of these cookies.”

“Oh, _fine_ ,” she grouses, folding her arms.

“Don’t sulk. Here.” He hands her a spoon that’s been dipped in fluffy white frosting. “Try this.”

She takes the spoon, pops it into her mouth. “Mm, that’s good.”

“Get another knife, and let’s frost these.” He smiles at her. “And then we’ll go sit in the living room and read, because I _am_ at a good part in my book and want to finish it.”

[5]  
Snowflakes, large and lacy, swirl out of the darkness and frolic across the windows, briefly illuminated by the soft white lights before they’re whisked back into the night air. Kryn, taken with this wintry ballet, watches them as she finishes drying the last plate.

“You look deep in thought,” Marr says from the living room. “It can’t be about dishes.”

“It _could_.” She chuckles as she puts the plate on the stack in the cabinet and closes the door. “You never know.” 

He laughs outright. “But it’s not.”

“No.” She tosses the towel in the general direction of the countertop and makes her way over to where he’s looking through the music, then wraps an arm around his waist. “I was just thinking about how fast the time has gone. It feels like we just got here and we’re leaving tomorrow.” She perks up. “At least we’ll be back in time for the holiday itself. Are you going to come over for dinner and presents?”

“If I say no, are you going to leave it at that?”

Kryn laughs. “You know I’m not.”

“Then I suppose I will,” he says easily. “But you still looked far too serious to be thinking about something so frivolous.”

“I got to thinking about what’s awaiting us, is all. But I’d rather not dwell on the work we have to do when we get back, not on our last night here.” She bumps him with her hip and cants her head to look at him. “You probably have, though. Sitting around daydreaming about how you’ll basically be chained to your desk.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” he says, haughty.

She gives him a sly look. “So you have.”

He ignores this as he pulls a selection out and puts it in the stereo. “Dance with me?” She steps back and stares at him, her mouth falling open, and he takes her hand, gently maneuvering her in front of him. “See, like this.” His eyebrow quirks. “Do you need some stilts?”

“I certainly do not, thank you very much.” She snatches her hand back and draws herself up to her full height, her scowl ruined by a pretty little pout. “Don’t know if I want to dance with you if you’re going to be so mean.”

“Kryn,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. “Would you prefer I go back to glowering at you and talking to you only when absolutely required?”

“You couldn’t.” She gives him a look that’s far too smug for his liking. “Oh, you’d try. It might work for a little while. Maybe a couple of weeks, maybe a month. Then one day I’d pass you in the hallway of the Citadel, and you’d remember this.” She goes on tiptoes to trail her fingertips through his hair, smiling when he shivers under her touch. “And this.” She cradles his face and levitates high enough to kiss him, stubble rough under her hand. “And you’d remember a few other things, and you’d miss me far too much to stick to it. You’d turn up at my house, try to convince me and yourself that you’re really mad by being loud and grouchy, but in the end you’d kiss me and confess how boring and colorless your life is without me.” She lands silently on the rug, clearly proud of herself.

“Hmm.” He pulls her close, waiting until she situates her hands to begin swaying in time to the music, and doesn’t tell her she’s greatly overestimating the length of time it would take him to miss her. It doesn't take long to become lost in the music and in her, and he has to remind himself that they were in the middle of a conversation. “I think maybe you know me too well.”

She grins up at him. “I do. But I think maybe you like it.” The same way she likes this ridiculous gesture, standing in the center of the living room and glowing in the firelight, pressed together at so many points of languid heat.

“Maybe.” He gives her a shrewd look. “Of course, I also know _you_. You’d be everywhere, every time I turned around. You’d never miss a meeting. And everything you’d say to me would be unrelentingly merciless, because every time you’d look at me, you’d remember that first kiss on Rishi. You’d remember the fire in your veins the first time you said you loved me. You’d remember how perfectly we fit together.” He brushes hair back behind her ear. “And when I showed up, at wits’ end and out of sorts, not only would you not tell me to leave, you’d kiss me first if you decided I was taking too long.”

“Well, aren’t you perceptive?” she says, trying not to laugh. “Maybe a little _too_ perceptive.”

“Maybe.” He echoes her earlier statement with a smile. “But I think maybe you like it.” 

She rests her head on his chest; neither of them moves when the music stops. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep you quite close, then. Can’t have you running about unsupervised with all this sensitive information.”

“How fortunate that this dovetails nicely with my plan to keep _you_ close. You know far too many of my secrets for me to let you go,” he says, the words rumbling in her ear. “Not to mention, my life would be boring and colorless without you.”

“I know.” Mirth twitches the corners of her mouth. “Of course, I’ve known that for two years and have had to sit around waiting for you to catch up.”

He lifts her up, swift and effortless, quietly marveling yet again at how tiny she is, a fact easily forgotten in the face of her personality and power. “Funny, I only remember one of us running away like her hair was on fire.”

She grumbles as she wraps her legs around his waist and one arm around his shoulders. “You worry about losing your freedom _one_ time and you never live it down,” she mutters. “You’re lucky I love you.”

His response is instant and sincere. “I am.” 

Her cheeks are suddenly flushed, and she stares at him, mute, having forgotten whatever retort she’d had planned.

“Speechless for once,” he murmurs, amused. “I’d better seize this opportunity.” He cradles her head with his free hand; she melts against him with a soft sigh, their kiss warmer than the fire and deeper than the night outside the brightly-lit windows.


	31. Research and Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn and Marr finally have time to visit Kryn's research facility on Yavin Four.

[1]  
A well-worn path, dirt and flattened grasses and the occasional squashed flower, leads from the crowded landing pad to Kryn’s research base on Yavin Four. Birds call to one another, a sprightly song that belies the Force current that permeates the planet. The slight breeze, a relief in the balmy afternoon air, sets the foliage to dancing. The path curves around a copse of tall trees and extends into a straightaway leading into the looming temple, moss and vines stark green against the gray stone, hanging off its edges and corners.

Kryn and Marr, each shouldering large bags, pause at the door and survey the large open room. It’s a hive of activity, each corner devoted to a particular task: study and research desks set in the shadow of looming bookcases, perimeter and internal security, a medical section that wouldn’t look out of place in a medcenter in Kaas City, and a lounge with a scattering of tables, a surprisingly well-stocked bar, and a jukebox.

He looks down at her, holding back a chuckle when he realizes she already has a datapad in hand, though she hasn’t activated it yet. "This is an impressive facility, Nox, especially for how quickly you got it up and running. What's your -"

Kryn, still scanning the room, pokes his chest. "Shh! Look.” She points across the room, at the movement in the medical wing.

A woman in a simple white tunic and dark brown breeches, straight black hair woven into a shining braid, helps a man out of the kolto tank. She drapes a towel around his shoulders and brushes a thumb across his cheekbone, worry creasing her brow. Her mouth moves, though the words are too quiet to carry to the front of the facility, and whatever the man says in return earns him a glare. No one around them pays them any mind, giving the clear impression that this is not an out-of-the-ordinary occurrence.

Marr can’t help the surprise in his voice. "Is that Scourge?"

"Hush!" Kryn swats his arm. “I don’t want them to know we’re here yet and you’re loud.”

Scourge's shoulders slump as he sighs, and the woman wraps an arm around his waist, clearly intent on leading him over to a chair. He smiles down at her, then lifts her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it before he murmurs something in her ear. Semiri’s cheeks flush pink and her scowl melts away, replaced by a near-smile that lifts the corners of her mouth. She shakes her head just hard enough to flutter the strands of hair framing her face, then takes a step. This time he follows, leaning on her as she guides him toward a desk full of datapads and notes. He drops into the comfortable-looking chair next to it, and she unfolds a metal chair leaning against the wall, placing it next to Scourge and lacing her fingers with his.

Kryn can't quite smother a pleased little squeak, though she claps a hand over her mouth as soon as it happens. "They are just _precious_!"

"I’ll admit, I didn’t think you were serious when you told me about these two." 

His tone is inscrutable and Kryn looks at him curiously before giving him a pitying head shake. "Well, that’s what you get for doubting me. Right now, we just got here and didn't just watch that happen."

"Oh, you don’t want to lead off with telling them that you just stood around watching what was clearly a private moment?” he asks, deadpan.

“You know, if you’re not going to be helpful, you can just wait in the bedroom while I see how everything is going.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Lead on.” 

He follows her across the room to a tall stone doorway; it slides back, revealing a set of shallow, narrow stairs that open out onto a sizeable octogonal living area, though it’s nowhere near as carefully or artfully arranged as her house. The large bed is flanked by wall lockers and set apart from the rest of the room by a decorated screen at its foot. Two couches and a coffee table take up most of the central space, and a large desk, just as cluttered as her desk in the Citadel, hugs one wall. The rest of the walls are covered by stacked crates and baskets, shelves full of datapads, pots of greenery and random chairs scattered through the space. A breeze drifts in through the archway on the far wall, giving the whole space a surprisingly cozy lived-in feel.

“That far wall locker is yours,” Kryn says. “I don’t think I threw anything in it, but if I did just find an empty crate for it.”

He discards his first few responses to this. “Or I’ll ask you what it is and you can tell me where it goes.”

“You’re very wrong if you think I’m not going to just tell you to put it in an empty basket.” 

The argument is rendered moot when Marr opens the wall locker and finds it empty. “Have you ever considered being organized?” He opens his bag, briefly considers unpacking, then just sets the bag on the empty shelf and closes the door.

“I am organized. Just because _you_ can’t find things doesn’t mean I can’t,” Kryn huffs. “Come on. I want to see if they’ve made any breakthroughs.”

A short, stocky man with close-cropped mahogany hair is examining Scourge by the time Kryn and Marr return to the main room. His lab coat pulls tight across his shoulders, his pockets are full of delicate instruments, and a datapad is in his hand as he looks from charts to Scourge then back to the datapad, making notes. He turns when he hears their approaching footsteps.

“My lords!” He inclines his head. “I wasn’t aware we were going to have an official inspection.”

“Not entirely official, Lord Edrin,” Kryn says, choosing not to remark on how Semiri rips her hand away from Scourge like he’s on fire. “Darth Marr simply inquired about our research; we had a few days free and I was due for a visit anyway. The official visit will be when the new head of Biotic Science comes, and I’ll let you know about that in advance.” She peers over his shoulder at the datapad. “How are things going? Anything new with our latest occupants?”

Edrin returns to examining Scourge, comparing his findings against a chart on the wall. “We have tested the limits of their immortality on one, including beheading.”

“And you didn’t call me for the entertainment!” Kryn grins widely. “How did that go?”

“He simply healed around it,” Edrin says with a note of amazement. “His only adverse effects were increased pain at the wound site and a headache that lasted a few days. Given that that amount of trauma can be repaired that quickly, we’ve concluded that the Hand can be neutralized or imprisoned, but not killed unless we find some way to reverse this process.” He sets the datapad down, draws their attention to some of the charts on the wall. “We’ve also theorized that the cybernetics, all of which are internal, are there to prevent the cellular reproduction from proceeding unchecked, allowing it to kick in only when healing is required.”

Kryn nods. “Well, there’s that at least.” She directs her attention to Scourge, bright smile on her face. “And you didn’t have to be beheaded to find that out!”

“Kryn!” Semiri snaps. “You were actually thinking of -”

Kryn heaves a large sigh before she gives Semiri a look of pure exasperation. “Did I not tell you that I’d put strict limitations on what tests we could conduct on him?”

Marr can’t quite squash his sound of disapproval. “In that case, if the Wrath hadn’t found two of the Hand, your research might not have gone anywhere.”

She gives him an imperious look, one eyebrow swooping toward her hairline. “This is _my_ project, yes? I will conduct it how I choose. And keep your tunic on, Semiri, I wasn’t going to behead your Sith. Give me a little credit.” Kryn’s irritation slips like quicksilver into a mischievous look that has Semiri worried. “I know it’s hard to keep your tunic on around Scourge, but just this once, try.”

“Kryn!” Semiri’s face flames and she casts a pointed glance at Marr even as Scourge tries to cover his laugh with a cough. “Well, I’m assuming you’ve run your mouth to _him_ then?”

Marr folds his arms and glares down at Semiri. “No less than she’s run it to _you_ , I see.”

“Well, I don’t know why either of you sound surprised.” Scourge chuckles outright this time as Semiri swipes at his arm. “Surely you know her better than that.”

Kryn holds up her hands. “All right, now that we’ve established we’re all on the same page thanks to me, let’s move on, yes?” She falls silent as she inspects Scourge, noting the dark circles under his eyes. “Are you all right, Scourge?” 

“I think I’ll be taking a break after this last round.” He sighs, rolling his shoulders. “Rougher than I was expecting.”

“Good. I was planning on giving everyone a week of R&R anyway. Rest up. Regain your strength. You can leave as well, if you like."

“I know. But ….” He trails off, glancing toward Semiri. “Well. You know.”

Kryn smiles. “I know.” She pats his arm. “We’ll leave you be. Would you like to see the rest of the facility, Marr?” 

“Of course.”

She guides him to the right and up a curving set of stairs. “Semiri’s been invaluable, staying out here and helping care for Scourge. We’re trying to reverse what Vitiate did to him, combing through old records that are frustratingly vague, hoping we can figure out what was in it and maybe reverse engineer it.”

" _That's_ what you’re doing? That’s incredibly ambitious," Marr says, surprise and pride mingled in his voice. "I thought you were simply searching for a way to eliminate the Hand."

"We have a contingent from Biotic Science here - Lord Edrin is our lead medical officer - and some of my best researchers.” She pauses as something occurs to her. “I suppose I ought to tell Callidus I have his people.” She pulls out her datapad and makes a note. “Anyway … where was I?” 

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Details of your research.”

“Oh, yes. We’re working off ancient secondhand records, so it’s touch and go. Scourge is well aware of the dangers, and agrees that it’s worth the risk.” A pleased smile lights her face. “And with two members of the Hand, we can conduct more experimental procedures that we couldn’t before.”

They make their way to the upper level, a wide walkway which skirts all four walls of the main room. The wall on their left is taken up by a neat row of shining bunk beds with trunks set between them, and a large door is set in the wall on Kryn’s right.

“Medical personnel and active researchers bunk here, so they’re close enough to respond if there’s an emergency but far enough away to have a little privacy.” She beckons to how far up they are. “And this door,” she continues, touching in a code and waiting as it opens, “leads out to the outer grounds, including another shuttle landing pad.”

The door slides back, revealing a massive stone bridge; she stops to admire the view as they cross. The bridge spans a rushing waterfall, fine spray misting around its railing, and looks out over a thick forest. The gray stone of temple spires are scattered through the treetops, monuments to Sith who came to the moon to tap into its dark side energies, and Yavin Prime dominates the darkening sky. “The moon feels peaceful from up here. I love it.”

He comes to stand next to her, arms folded as he gazes out over the forest. “Do you think you’re going to find what you’re looking for?”

“I don’t know.” Kryn clasps her hands behind her back as they continue across the bridge. “Vitiate left precious few notes on what he did; I assume because either he didn’t want someone else replicating it or because he didn’t think anyone else would be around to do so. It’s as if … as if he wrangled our magic, our alchemy, into a technological process. They’re so woven together that it will take a combination to loosen the threads, to undo what he did.” 

She points out the two smaller outbuildings on her right and left. “Still don’t have a use for that one, but I turned this one into a sanctum and meditation room. All we know for certain is that Yavin Four, with its continual application of Force energy, has partially restored what Scourge lost during the process.” She opens the door to the sanctum, revealing a collection of softly murmuring datacrons, a table covered in notes, and a meditation area flanked by flickering lamps. “His senses and emotions are restored, though at the cost of heightened continual pain. We don’t believe his immortality has been affected, though we won’t test him to the lengths we’ll test the Hand. He healed just as quickly when I grazed him with a lightsaber, though he says the pain from injuries linger.”

Past the sanctum is a wide stone patio spanning nearly the width of the available space; Kryn has installed a gazebo and some elegant furniture, Marr notes as they pass it, though she’s bound for a corner of the mesa. Kryn skirts the edge of a small pond, following a faint footpath to a cave opening hidden by vines, leading him through a passageway that cuts through the stone. It opens up on a completely secluded area, a grassy plateau at the edge of the temple grounds. 

The sun has set and the night air is crisp and clean, bright with moonlight and humming with insect-song. A waterfall courses over the cliffside and into the pond, fine mist dancing around the rocks. Stars blanket the sky with twinkling pinpricks. Marr’s steps slow behind Kryn, watching her as she extends a hand toward the misty pond, brushes her fingertips over a blossoming flower. She stops near the edge of the mesa, hands on her hips, looking out over the darkened forest.

The Force flows through it all - the landscape, her, him - shadowed and whispering.

He silently discards his mask and gauntlets on a large flat rock, then closes the distance between them with swift steps. “Kryn.”

He’s pulled her out of her thoughts, and she’s already tilting her head toward him as she turns to face him. “Hmm?”

He skims a hand across her hair and bends to kiss her, traversing her skin from mouth to jaw to neck in the silvered light, stretching through the Force to let her heightened reaction wash over him.

She leans into his ministrations, short of breath when he pulls back to look at her. “You can feel it, can’t you? The way it wraps around you out here, tendrils of it snaking around your skin, cold and hot at the same time, waiting for you to command it.” He murmurs an assent, and she gives him a look bordering on coquettish. “You know, no one but me comes out here.”

He’s already reaching for her again. “Good.”

[2]  
“You know, I wasn’t expecting you to take over my desk and treat this like a workday,” Kryn drawls from the couch, looking over the top of her book at Marr.

He’d risen before her, as always, and settled into her large chair right after breakfast, setting a stack of datapads in the only available open space on the desk. She’d chuckled at him then, more than content to lounge on the couch and read, but she hadn’t expected this to go on for four hours. 

He doesn’t look up from whatever message he’s composing. “I find that hard to believe; you know me better than that,” he says as he taps at the desk, looking over when whatever he’s expecting doesn’t light up. “You don’t even have a galaxy map in this desk?”

“Do you have an interactive library catalogue in yours?” she asks archly.

He sighs. “I wish I’d thought to bring mine, then.”

“I’m sure Bryasere can find the coordinates you’re referring to, if you write them in your message,” Kryn says airily.

The door at the top of the steps opens and an apprentice, a young woman with elaborately braided brown hair, hustles down the stairs. “My lord!” She draws a breath, inclines her head. “Pardon me, my lords,” she repeats, emphasizing the plural this time, “Lord Edrin sent me to fetch you; they have a serum ready to test.”

“Fantastic!” Kryn stands and tosses her book onto the couch. “Are we testing it on one of the Hand?” 

The apprentice nods. “Yes, my lord, as you directed.”

“Coming? Or staying here to work?” Kryn asks Marr.

“Let’s see what your researchers have discovered,” he says, rising out of the office chair and making his way around the desk to her side. “I wouldn’t want to be here bemoaning my lack of maps while you undid Vitiate’s work.”

They follow the apprentice through the main area, turning left at the landing this time and following curving stairs downward to a guarded door. Kryn nods to the two Sith on guard. “Lord Edrin is already here, I presume?”

“Yes, my lord, and Lord Jarax as well.”

Beyond the door is a smallish room, repurposed as a holding pen for captives. Upon first glance it’s almost pleasant: an open archway in the far wall leads to a narrow balcony overlooking the forest, and vines hang from the ceiling and crawl over the broken statue still laying in pieces against one wall. The pleasant effect is ruined by the distinctly fusty odor that Kryn has been unable to eradicate, and the six Force cages lining the right wall.

The small room is made smaller by the number of people in it when Kryn enters. Lord Edrin is near the door, holding a large syringe full of reddish-brown liquid in one hand and a datapad in the other. Lord Jarax, a Pureblood with deep red skin and long black hair twisted into a simple braid, inclines his head toward the two Councilors. Broonmark and Jaesa are in their usual positions, a few steps away from the two occupied cages containing the captured members of the Hand. 

“Broonmark, Jaesa, take up posts on the balcony.” Kryn points, rather unnecessarily, toward the narrow balcony on the far side of the room. “It’s getting a little crowded in here and I think Marr and I can handle it if one of them gets a little rebellious.”

The pair nods, retreating out of the room. Jaesa lingers in the doorway, curiosity on her face.

Lord Edrin extends the syringe toward Kryn. “My lord, do you wish to do the honors?”

She takes it, holds it up to the light to inspect it. “Of course. Jarax, do we have _any_ idea what this is going to do?”

“Theoretically it should counteract the healing factor, rendering the test subject mortal, my lord,” Jarax says after consulting his notes. “We’re just not sure how yet.”

“Very well.” Kryn looks up at Marr. “Are you restraining the subject, or shall I get the guards?”

“I will. Which one?”

“Not him,” she says, beckoning at Servant One, standing in the first Force cage. “The other one. Servant Eight.”

Jarax makes his way to the control panel on the wall and waits until Marr is in position in front of the fourth cage of the six, then opens the door. Eight sneers as Marr’s hand clamps around his upper arm. 

“Turned traitor too, have you, Darth Marr? Who knew you’d be so susceptible to the lies of this _thing_? You -” Eight’s face crumples when Marr’s hand tightens on his arm as he all but drags the smaller Sith across the room, hauling him in front of Kryn without a word.

Kryn wraps her fingers around Eight’s free wrist and jams the needle into the meaty portion of his upper arm. 

Nothing happens.

“Another failure!” The man cackles. “You’ll never -” Eight’s eyes open wide when a gout of something, black and bilious, explodes from his mouth, sending Kryn leaping backward out of the splash zone. Marr merely rotates his grip so he’s standing behind the man, who’s now shaking uncontrollably as he vomits again. 

Lord Edrin has paled considerably, extending a shaking hand to point at Eight. “My lord, his skin, it’s ….”

Eight is breaking out in an astonishing case of swelling boils, stretching so thin as to be almost be transparent, distorting his face and limbs, the liquid in them plain to see when they burst. His scream pierces the air as the room fills with a noxious smell and sends Jaesa stumbling away from the doorway, leaning over the edge of the balcony to throw up. A splash lands on Marr’s shoulder, leaving a smoking dimple in the armor as Eight collapses into a squelchy heap that barely looks humanoid, open sores weeping. 

He begins to disintegrate, rapidly liquefying before their eyes, and in short order is little more than a stain on the floor. 

Everyone in the room stares at it in silence for a long moment.

“Well, we’re not giving _that_ to Scourge.” Kryn, the first to speak, is incongruously cheerful. “Is he dead, Servant One? Have we killed one of the immortal Hand? I assume you all have a connection.”

“That’s one,” the Sith in the cage snarls. “There are still eleven of us.”

“Ten. Even if I can’t find the others, you’re still here, aren’t you? Your death warrant is as good as signed. And now all ten know what I can do to them.” She goes to tap the stain with her boot, reconsiders. “Keep this formula. If we can put it into darts we have an effective weapon against the rest of the Hand.”

Jarax nods. “Yes, my lord. We kept meticulous notes on our process; anyone with enough skill to work in Biotic Science will be able to replicate it.”

“Good. Ensure we have what we need to make this up on short notice.” She falls silent for a moment, deep in thought. “I don’t want the procedure disseminated to the wider sphere, though. Keep it in our private files.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lord Edrin skims his notes. “At least it wasn’t a total loss; we have something to use against them. Now we need to narrow down what created such a ….” He stops, shudders. “Such an _unpleasant_ reaction. If you’ve no further need of us, my lord, we will return to our research.”

Kryn nods. “Keep me informed.”

“As always, my lord.” He and Jarax bow, then swiftly exit the small room.

“Nox, whatever you turned him into started to eat through my armor.” Marr shows her the pockmark in his shoulder plate. “What did you inject him with?” 

“I have the formula on my desk. Jarax sends them to me before he creates a live test batch. I didn’t see anything wildly out of place in it; perhaps it interacted poorly with whatever had been done before. They’ll take that into account when they begin to work on the new formula.” She looks over at Jaesa, who’s still looking a little woozy. “Jaesa, you need a break?”

“No, my lord, I just wasn’t expecting that … bubbling, oozy mess. And that _smell_.” Jaesa shakes her head. “I’ll be fine.”

Kryn nods, then crosses the room to Servant One’s cage. “Are you going to talk? Knowing what I can do to you if you don’t?”

“I’m the only one you have. You won’t kill me.” His chin lifts, still imperious even in a Force cage.

A cruel, cold smile spreads across Kryn’s face. “Then I guess my goal is finding another one of you, isn’t it?” She pivots sharply, bound for the door. “Shall we, Darth Marr?”


	32. Diplomatic Outreach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empire is serious about its focus on diplomacy, drawing worlds to its side through negotiations. Their new direction is not entirely welcomed by everyone in the galaxy.

[1]  
_33 Dreypa, 1341_  
_The Citadel_

When Darth Otium took over the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy, her first order of business was refurnishing her inner office to be more inviting. She took down the heavy red curtains that covered the floor to ceiling transparisteel and got rid of all the dark, somber furniture, replacing it with a monochrome white and silver color scheme: hand-selected artisan furniture and an eclectic selection of rugs and artwork, all by craftsmen and artists in Kaas City.

The result was a bright, almost airy office, an anomaly in the normally gloomy Citadel, routinely punctuated by the lightning strikes that flicker through the clouded skies of Dromund Kaas. It’s here that she’s decided to hold her negotiations with the Hutt Cartel, rather than down in the Council chamber. She surveys the assembled Councilors, representing all three of the military spheres of the Empire. “We’ll be meeting with the Hutts’ negotiator, Khobisho. I never received clarification regarding the presence of any of the heads of the five families, but that is immaterial to these talks. Darth Tekton, do you need any particular equipment for your maps?”

“No.” Tekton pulls a handheld holoprojector out of her pocket. “I’ve got both here if we need them.”

Otium nods, satisfied. “Good.” Her attention is drawn by her Second, bustling around the office, setting a tea service on her desk and double-checking the holoprojector, set on a small table in the center of the room. “Thank you for the tea, Dioneric. Is the holocom ready to go?”

“Yes, my lord.” Dioneric, a lanky man in his mid-thirties with dusky blue eyes and waist-length black hair woven into a single braid, inclines his head. His glance barely alights on each Councilor in turn before shifting back to Darth Otium. “I, um … I wasn’t sure if I should bring cups for Darth Tekton and Darth Marr? I can go get them if so.”

Marr is standing near the windows, arms folded across his chest. “Not necessary for me.”

“Nor I,” Tekton says. 

“If everything is set up, Dioneric, return to your duties. Keep me informed on the status of our current projects, but do not interrupt this meeting once we’ve begun the talks.”

“Yes, my lord. Do you want me to monitor the feed of your office and take notes?”

“Either you or Zoi, please, though Zoi is waiting on word from Daalang. We’ll want a record, just in case.”

He nods and exits the office, closing the door behind him. 

Darth Atroxa is pacing along one wall, swinging her arms in tight arcs, a picture of barely-contained ferocity. “Diplomacy is not my strong suit. Too much _please_ and _thank you_ , too little noticeable action.” Her jagged, angular tattoos cut lines across her face and down the length of her lekku, severe even in the gentle light of Otium’s office.

“Luckily, the Hutts don't have words for _please_ and _thank you_ ,” Otium chuckles, “so there shouldn't be too much of that. You’ll be able to answer any questions Khobisho has about our military capabilities, Atroxa, much better than I.” She indicates the four chairs she’s arranged in a half-circle against the wall. “If you’ll all take your seats, it’s nearly time.” 

Once the three Sith are seated, she touches a button on the holocom, then settles into her chair. After a moment, Khobisho’s image flickers to life, as well as five other Hutts behind him.

“Darth Otium,” he begins in deep-voiced Huttese. “Members of the Dark Council. It is my privilege and honor to present the Council of Elders, including our Supreme Mogul, Drarso the Unbowed, Supreme Power of Hutta, Unquestioned Ruler of the Hutt Domain, Paragon of the Hutt Species.”

The four Councilors incline their heads in greeting before Otium begins her introductions, her Huttese gently accented but flawless. “Council of Elders. Khobisho the Negotiator. I am Darth Otium, head of the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy. Joining me are Darth Marr, head of the sphere of Defense of the Empire and leader of our Council, Darth Atroxa, head of the Sphere of Military Offense, and Darth Tekton, head of the Sphere of Military Strategy.”

“We understand you have a proposition for us?”

“Indeed.” Otium nods at Tekton, who brings up a galaxy map, neatly color-coded with expanding Imperial territory. “As you can see here, we have already reached out to a number of systems along your borders, both on the coreward and rimward ends, offering them the Empire’s might in exchange for their loyalty. In keeping with our announcement of nearly two months ago, we are pursuing diplomacy and the freedom to choose that the Republic has long denied the inhabitants of the galaxy.”

“The Empire’s new direction has been the source of much speculation,” Khobisho agrees. “We did not expect to see you commit quite so thoroughly to a non-militaristic expansion. But why would we side with you over the Republic?”

“Has the Republic reached out to you?” Otium asks, a shrewd look on her face. “Even when she needed allies to care for the tide of refugees from Makeb - a planet the Hutts would have destroyed but for the Empire’s intervention - Supreme Chancellor Saresh balked at allying with you, once again hurting her own people in her slavish devotion to ideology.” 

She extends her arms in a sign of welcome. “The Empire, on the other hand, recognizes the value in a cordial, mutually beneficial relationship with the families of the Hutt Cartel, especially if our plans come to fruition and you find yourself surrounded by the Empire.” Otium smiles. “After all, is it not better to have the might of the Empire mustered behind you, rather than pointed at you?”

One of the Hutts behind Khobisho speaks up. “If we ally with you, we anger the Republic.”

Otium isn't surprised by the question. “Have you ever been concerned about the Republic’s feelings before, Zerrab? What has the Republic done for the Cartel? Other than ally with the three rogue families on Quesh, of course?”

Zerrab nods. “You make a valid point. Though we’re surprised you would bring up Makeb, a planet you stole from us.”

“The Empire saved that world when you had abandoned it for lost,” Darth Marr interjects. “Would you not say to the victor go the spoils? It’s hardly our fault that your former Supreme Mogul chose to destroy his reserves of isotope-5 rather than preserve them.”

“Toborro was … too greedy, yes.” Zerrab falls silent, considering. “If we choose to overlook Makeb and ally with you, what do we get out of it?”

“We will be an extra force along your borders.” Otium gives the assembled Hutts a stern look. “We will not be Cartel enforcers, but should Saresh get it into her head to attack you as she did us, we will come to your aid. Additionally, while we will still pursue our diplomatic aims across the Outer and Mid Rims, we will not encroach upon your territory. In return, you will not encroach upon ours, and will leave Makeb to us.”

“The Council of Elders must confer,” Khobisho says. “We will speak again soon.” The holocom image disappears.

“How long are they going to make us wait?” Tekton asks. “Do you know?”

“If they were going to decline the offer outright, they’d already have done so.” Otium rises and crosses to the tea service. She pours herself a cup and returns to her chair, settling in to review her preliminary draft of the treaty. “They’ve been surprisingly receptive; negotiations with Hutts are often far more involved. And they have to see how it’s prudent to accept our offer.”

Marr is studying Tekton’s map. “If they accept, that’s a swath of galaxy where we’ll be facing threats on one front instead of two. Atroxa, Tekton, it would be in our best interests to have units near the borders of Hutt space as a show of good faith.”

Both women nod. “Recruitment has gone well in a number of new systems,” Atroxa muses. “If we have the capability, we should train new recruits on their homeworlds. They know the terrain better than us, and then they’re prepared and outfitted without a costly trip to the homeworld. It’s much more efficient.”

Tekton is already taking notes. “I can get a mobile training unit curriculum drawn up today if you can allocate the manpower to deploy it.”

“Done.” 

The holocom chimes. Otium sets her cup back on her desk and touches the button.

“Councilors.” Khobisho waits until she’s back in her chair and the four Sith have directed their attention to him. “The Council of Elders, after much deliberation, accept your offer of an alliance under the previously stated terms. We look forward to a long and fruitful relationship.”

“Excellent.” Otium inclines her head. “I will send a diplomat to Nal Hutta with the necessary treaties within the week. I am pleased we could come to an equitable arrangement for all parties.”

“As are we, Darth Otium.” Khobisho’s image winks out. 

Atroxa looks over at Marr. “Darth Marr, did you wish to be present for the redistribution of forces now that we have units returning from Republic territory?”

“Notify me when you are beginning; I have a series of reports on my desk from our recent expansions to look through first.” As the two Councilors depart, he turns to Otium. “Saresh will be furious when she hears of this, and I have no doubt her spies will inform her in short order. Continue your diplomatic outreach program on the agreed timetable, but be prepared for possible Republic retaliation.” 

“Yes, Darth Marr.”

“Was there anything else, Councilor?”

The Nautolan shakes her head. “No. All that remains is paperwork and the dispatching of the diplomat.”

“If there are any changes, inform me at once. Well done, Otium.”

[2]  
_Six days later_  
_Supreme Chancellor’s Office, Coruscant_

“World after world!” Supreme Chancellor Saresh smacks a fist onto her desk, her anger a stark contradiction to the radiant daylight outside her large office windows. The sun twinkles on the windows and buildings of the upper levels, and the air is dotted with the splashes of color on innumerable speeders as they sweep past. The galaxy map slowly rotating above her desk wavers. “World after world allying themselves with the Empire! And the ones that don’t, the Empire just ignores! The Bothans decline their offer; they say _thank you for your time_ and move on. Same with Rishi. Same with Kashyyyk. What are they _doing_?”

Grand Master Satele Shan and Supreme Commander Jace Malcom exchange a glance. They’ve been listening to this tirade for fifteen minutes, standing silently on the other side of the Supreme Chancellor’s expansive desk. “It appears they’re taking their promise of diplomacy seriously,” Satele says, even as Saresh brings up yet another map.

“If we reposition troops here -” she sets a point on Bothawui, “then we are right in the middle of their territory and can attack them on all sides.”

Satele watches Jace’s brows draw together and gently touches his forearm, shaking her head minutely. The surest way to anger Jace Malcom is to needlessly sacrifice troops, and he still hasn’t forgiven Saresh for Ziost. As tempting as it is to let him give the woman a good tongue-lashing, Satele would prefer the discussion stay somewhat civil. “Supreme Chancellor, if the Empire is staying true to its word to not attack, why would we attack worlds that have willingly joined it?”

“Because worlds do not willingly leave the Republic! That isn’t something we allow! That isn’t how things work!” She brings up another map, all but pacing in her irritation. “Perhaps if the Wookiees ….” She trails off, then looks at the pair. “I want a battle plan by the end of the day from both of you. This cannot be allowed to stand. I will not sit here and allow the Empire to eat away at my territory!”

Satele’s hands settle on her hips and her jaw takes on a stubborn set, and Jace knows that Saresh has just lost Satele’s support, if indeed she ever had it. “We’ve lost Jedi after our ill-advised assault on Ziost,” she says, her voice soft yet implacable. “They have simply left the Order. Not to become Sith, but they have no wish to see more of their fellows die for a lost cause. I will not lose more good people in an attempt to strongarm planetary governments.” She gives Saresh a searching look. “Is that really what the Republic is about? How does that make us any better than the Empire? Does it not make us _worse_ than the Empire, given their current diplomatic bent?”

“Grand Master Shan might be nice and politic about it, but I won’t,” Jace snaps, brusque. He’s never had the patience to deal with politicians the way Satele has and knows it. He knew as soon as his presence was requested - _demanded_ \- by the Supreme Chancellor that he was going to be losing his temper at some point. “We lost too damn many people in your last fool campaign, people that should never have died, whose families should never have received that letter and that folded flag, people lost because you didn’t care what could happen to the good men and women in the Republic army.” 

He stalks forward, highlighting a myriad of Core and Inner Rim planets. “They’ve withdrawn their troops from all these planets. The slog for Balmorra was over just like that.” He snaps his fingers. “They said they were done, then they were done. No reprisals for our shadow involvement with the resistance, for the Senate’s backing of Grand Marshal Cheketta. No reprisals for the death of Darth Lachris. In the face of all this, we have no reason to believe Marr was lying in his speech three months ago. He all but announced a cessation of hostilities live on the Holonet, and their behavior since then has aligned with that announcement.”

“He’s a Sith and an Imperial!” Saresh snarls. “How much more proof that he’s a liar do you _need_?” She looks at Satele. “Surely, Master Jedi, you understand my point here!”

Satele shrugs her shoulders. “I may not agree with most - nearly all - of Darth Marr’s methods, and I will _never_ agree with Sith philosophy, but our time on Yavin Four demonstrated that the man can be pragmatic when the situation calls for it. Darth Marr was just as committed to a joint effort as we were. I have no reason to doubt his word.”

“These planets are willingly choosing to ally with our sworn enemy! I will _not_ have it! I will not have them eat away at our borders until we are surrounded on all sides, a mere shadow of our former glory!” She pulls up another map. “And I was informed yesterday that now they’ve allied with the Hutts! Look at how much of the galaxy is now under their control!”

Satele and Jace exchange another glance. “Supreme Chancellor, I did advise that we ally with the Hutts after Makeb, if you remember,” Satele says gently. “We have planets going bankrupt trying to care for those refugees, planets that would have been considerably aided by the Hutt Cartel’s expansive coffers.”

“Ally with gangsters?” Saresh snorts. “That day will never come.”

“Then you can’t be angry that the Empire took an opportunity we were willing to pass up,” Jace says, a little more tersely than he meant to. “We could have had an ally deep in Imperial territory - especially the way their diplomatic efforts are going - but you chose not to. Getting angry about that is like getting angry that Coruscant has crowded air lanes, nothing but a waste of time.”

Saresh folds her arms. “And the two of you are standing here, refusing to defend the Republic.”

“This is not defending the Republic, Supreme Chancellor,” Satele retorts, and this time Jace can hear the thread of irritation in her words. “This is deliberate provocation you are demanding, against a government that has declared outright that they will not attack us unless attacked. The Jedi will not participate in something so dishonorable.”

“Nor the Army of the Republic,” Jace adds. “If their Council decides to attack and make themselves liars, then they will face our full might. But until such time, we will not perpetrate the same acts of war we decried when they were committed by the Empire.”

Satele folds her arms across her chest. “Perhaps we ought to consider why it is systems are willing to leave us. We clearly have shortcomings that need to be addressed if so many feel their needs are better served by the Empire.”

“How dare you! I’ll have you both - “

“What?” Jace steps forward, slapping both palms down on the desk. “You’ll what? Punish us? Remove us? You can’t remove Grand Master Shan because you have no authority over the Jedi, and you can go ahead and remove me if you want but what will you tell the Republic? What reason will you give for punishing war heroes? Hmm?”

Saresh glares at him and Satele briefly wonders if Jace just got himself thrown out of the army.

“Get out,” Saresh finally growls. “Just … get out of my office. Both of you.”

As the door closes behind them, Satele shakes her head. “I don’t think I would have taunted her, Jace.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. But I would, and I did, and nothing happened because I was right.” They make their way through the crowded halls of the Senate building. “She knows she doesn’t have a leg to stand on without you and I. The Jedi won’t act without you, unless your Council’s gotten a lot more interesting than I remember, and any orders that come down that aren’t from my office will get immediately verified by our commanders.” He draws her off to the side, out of the stream of foot traffic, once they exit the building. “Now that it’s just you and me … what’s your read on this whole situation?”

Satele considers. “Darth Marr seems committed to doing what he said they were going to do. I never thought I’d see the day the Empire left Balmorra, especially after they caught Cheketta. Even though they did release him rather than kill him.”

“Not that that didn’t do a substantial amount of damage, what with that broadcast confession,” Jace grumbles.

“It did,” Satele agrees, “but we got caught.”

“ _We_ didn’t get caught, _politicians_ got caught and our guys paid the price. You know, how it always goes.” He folds his arms. “Just keep me informed, okay? If it looks like something is going to go down, I’d rather not be surprised.”

She smiles. “I will. You know, there’s a great cafe in the Market District. Do you have time for lunch, Supreme Commander?”

“I do, actually.” He makes a show of checking his chrono. “I was expecting to get yelled at for at least another hour. Lead the way, Grand Master.”


	33. A Difference of Opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn is excited to mount an archaeological expedition. Marr is vehemently against it. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read "Red Harvest," by Joe Schreiber, I enthusiastically recommend it. :D

[1]  
Kryn and Marr are stretched out in Marr’s oversize tub, languishing in the warm water as they read datapads.

“Kryn, you’ve barely given me one word answers tonight. What are you working so hard on?” Marr extends his arm, water dripping onto the tile as he sets his on a nearby short table and leans over to peer at hers.

“I’m jotting ideas for an expedition to explore an abandoned academy.” Her voice is bright with excitement; she has taken wholeheartedly to her duties since her appointment to the Council, and this record she’s stumbled on, frustratingly vague as it is, has piqued her interest. “Apparently we’ve never attempted to reclaim it,” she says, affronted, “even though it’s close and by all descriptions had a massive library we simply must possess.” Her brow furrows and she goes back to reading. “There’s so little information on it, which is just baffling considering it was an academy. I can’t just leave it to rot under rubble and snow, and -”

He sits up straighter as unease flares to life in his chest. Water sloshes high enough that she jerks the datapad over her head to keep it dry, delicate features twisted in a glower. He doesn't even have to ask what academy she's talking about, and he has to put a stop to this particular plan before it starts. “Yes, you can. And you will,” he says in the tone he normally reserves for wayward and disobedient acolytes. “You cannot, under any circumstances, mount an expedition to Odacer-Faustin.”

Kryn’s expression hardens, the way it always, _always_ does when someone tells her she can’t do something. “Wait. What do you know about it? And why in blazes do you think I can’t?” she asks, clutching the datapad tighter in her hand as though she’s worried he’s going to take it away from her.

“It's not that I don't think you can. I'm absolutely convinced you can.” His expression is deadly serious as he studies her face, then grabs her chin and tilts her head up, forcing her to look at him. “You _can_ , but you won’t.” A pause. “That’s a command, Kryn.” 

His next words - an explanation, clarification - are drowned out by the loud bray of laughter that explodes out of her and echoes off the black-tiled walls. She gives her head a sharp twist and pulls her chin out of his grasp, once again lifting the datapad away from the water she disturbs with the movement. Her mirth is short-lived, already skewing into white-hot anger. “You aren’t my master, in case you've forgotten, and I’m insulted that you’d attempt to act as though you are! How dare you _command_ me?” 

She heaves the datapad toward the counter, slowing its trajectory with the Force and gently dropping it onto the smooth marble, then stands and steps out of the bath, water dripping onto the deep red rug. She gives him a mulish look, arms folded beneath her breasts. “I am more than capable of -”

“Kryn, that isn't what I was trying to insinuate.” He follows suit, standing next to her, raking damp hair off his forehead as he looks down at her. “Stop jumping to the worst conclusions and listen to me. Darth Scabrous unleashed a plague in that academy six years ago. We don’t know if it’s still active. We don’t know if there are still plaguebearers. We don't even know what the plague really was. The only reason we found out _anything_ about what happened was because one of our spies within the Jedi Order sent back a copy of Hestizo Trace’s account.”

A disbelieving look flits across Kryn’s features. “You’re telling me that you’ve all sat here shaking in your armor over a six-year-gone plague?” she scoffs. “I didn’t think the Empire’s preeminent warfighter was such a coward.”

Marr’s determined not to let Kryn goad him into an argument, no matter how much the accusation of cowardice rankles, especially since he knows she’s just trying to get a rise out of him. “ _Kryn_. There is a _reason_ we haven’t gone back there, and it isn’t cowardice.” He can hear his voice growing colder, though she hasn’t noticed yet. “You may be blasé about your life and what dangers you walk into, but I will not have the stability of the Empire threatened because the head of a sphere, out of sheer stubbornness, refuses to listen to reason.” He folds his arms and regards her coolly. They've had numerous talks about how the success and security of the Empire is paramount, and he's not going to give on that front. “As the head of the Council, I forbid you to go.”

As soon as he says it, her expression grows stormy. “You _forbid_ me to go?” she shouts, stepping into his personal space, and if she wasn’t so irate she’d find this whole situation hilarious, the two of them stark naked and arguing. “ _You_ forbid me to go?” she repeats, louder, changing the emphasis. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m standing right here,” he answers calmly, watching her jaw tighten as he speaks, “so there’s no point in shouting.” A note of gentleness creeps into his voice. “Has it occurred to you that I have no wish to have to kill you if you become infected? That I don’t want to see you reduced to a mindless, gibbering monstrosity?”

She’s in no mood for whatever this new tactic is. “Well, _you_ don’t have to come along, now do you?” His total lack of reaction is needling her and she’ll have a response from him one way or another even if she has to viciously prod him to get it.

To her immense annoyance, he doesn't take the bait. “You’re not going. There is nothing else to discuss.”

“Oh, so because you proclaimed it, that’s it? We’re done?”

“Yes.” He wipes his feet on the rug and strides over to the counter, sweeping her datapad into one hand. A few taps, and he crosses back and extends it to her. “Read for yourself. Only the Council were permitted access to this report.”

Kryn snatches it and skims the information. “So we’re taking the word of a traumatized _Jedi_ ,” she all but spits the word, “and using that to justify the loss of a library of knowledge whose size is unknown? That could contain parts of our history that we still don’t know?” She flings it back at him. “Unacceptable!”

Marr catches it one-handed and tosses it toward the counter, then stares at her for a long moment. “ _That_ is what you took from that?” He scrubs a hand across his face and takes a deep breath. “Living corpses, engineered virulent plague, unknown if still active, you missed all that?” He still sounds calm, but the calmness is hanging on by a thread at this point and he can feel it unraveling the longer she stares at him.

“My _job_ is to bring back our order’s knowledge to be catalogued and shared and safeguarded! Nowhere in there does it say to only do this for knowledge left in nice, safe places!” Kryn, bellicose, is thrumming with energy, outraged by his casual surrender of such an archaeological trove. “No one even knows what was _in_ the library at Odacer-Faustin because it’s been scrubbed from the records!”

“It was scrubbed to prevent idiot treasure hunters from gallivanting down to the planet and potentially unleashing a plague upon the galaxy at large!” He takes another slow breath, willing his temper away. “It’s irresponsible and foolhardy at best, egotistical and fatal at worst to think you can outwit ancient Sith magicks.”

A heavy silence falls over the ‘fresher as Kryn opens her mouth, then closes it again, stymied in her search for the right words to express her reaction to this. “I was unaware,” she finally says between gritted teeth, “that you had so little faith in my abilities!” She stalks past him, yanking a towel off the rack hard enough for the ends to pop.

He gives her a genuinely puzzled look, hands settling on his hips as he watches her angrily wrap the towel around herself. “What? What are you talking about?”

“‘It’s fatal to think you can outwit ancient Sith magicks,’” she repeats in an astonishingly rude imitation of him, exaggerated emphasis on _you_. 

“That’s not what I -”

"Oh, no, Esteemed Leader of the Empire," she says in an exaggerated Imperial accent, giving him first a deep curtsy that’s still somehow insulting and then an even more insulting lackadaisical salute. "Such a weak Sith as myself would never dare to subvert _your_ mighty will. Do you have any further use of me, _my lord_ , or may I be excused? As long as I don't attempt to do anything else without your permission and supervision, of course?" 

The only outward disturbance of his expression is the tightness of his jaw, the only sign of his annoyance the sharpness of his movements as he crosses the ‘fresher for his own towel. "If you feel the need to flounce off in a huff, don't let me stop you," he says, frostily courteous as he wraps the white fabric around his waist. 

Her wordless shout of frustration bounces off the walls as she stomps out of the room.

By the time he makes his way upstairs - after filing paperwork and catching the highlights from the last smashball game and making a snack he was too out of sorts to eat - she's in the middle of a conversation with someone, judging by the rate and pattern of her typing and pauses. He goes through his nighttime routine unthinking: checking his schedule, choosing what he’s going to read, making a note of things that need to be handled first thing in the morning. 

When it’s clear she’s not going to say anything, he swallows his pride and greets her first. “Kryn.”

“Matthius.” She doesn't look up and doesn’t make any effort to sound even remotely neutral. 

His pride reasserts itself and he hands her attitude right back. “Are you still in a snit?”

“Are you still telling me what I can and can't do?”

He supposes that means the answer to his question is _yes_ , as he sets his stack of datapads on the end table and slides under the blanket, irritation at the argument compounded by irritation at going to bed without a satisfactory resolution to the argument. “Very well.”

They don't exchange another word before they fall asleep.

[2]  
Marr’s eyes drift open and he glances at the chrono. Four in the morning, and this is the third time he’s woken up. He bites back a sigh, finally admitting that he’s not going to get any sleep tonight. Frustrated, he slips out from under the blanket, careful not to wake Kryn, and heads downstairs, bound for his meditation room.

The lights blaze to life when he opens the door, illuminating scored and scarred walls, a phalanx of training droids, and a tall transparisteel case containing an impressive array of melee weapons from across the galaxy. The far wall has been painted black and inlaid with the Sith Code, wrought in gold. He crosses the room with long strides and plucks a lightsaber out of the case, then activates four of the droids at a panel on the wall.

The argument, his irritation, and his frustration all melt away as he clears his mind, lost in the rhythm of battle and focusing only on the Force as it flows through him. He runs through velocities he’s known since the Academy, the lightsaber’s blade an orange blur, its hilt gleaming in the overhead lights as he glides through movements that are more muscle memory than conscious thought.

As the fourth droid drops, red-orange gash through its torso, he deactivates the lightsaber and sets it back in the case, replacing it with a cortosis pike. He activates another set of droids - six this time - and easily falls into another set of velocities with variations of his own, and he doesn’t realize that he’s not alone until the last droid has collapsed amid a shower of sparks.

Kryn’s leaning against the doorway, borrowed tunic falling nearly to her knees. A shield shimmers around her to protect her from flying scrap, which is scattered across the expansive room. She gestures, and the shield disappears. “Can’t sleep?”

“No.” He returns the pike to the case and closes the door. “Did I wake you?”

Her hair, sleep-mussed and wavy, brushes her arms as she shakes her head. “Not as such. I just rolled over, woke up when I noticed you were gone.” Her words are gentle, but she doesn’t move from the doorway. “I’m willing to compromise on this Odacer-Faustin expedition if you are.”

He scrutinizes her for a moment, brows drawing together. It’s not in her nature to give ground. “You’ve already done something.”

She nods, unsurprised he’s guessed correctly. “I requisitioned an aerial reconnaissance. No one will be touching down. I simply want to know the state of the academy there and if there are any life signs at all. I feel like that’s fair.”

He shifts his weight to his other leg, looks absently at the scrapes and scratches on his forearms. “I won’t countermand your orders. It creates an unnecessary and unproductive appearance of conflict,” he finally says, somewhat grudgingly. “But I want a promise from you in return.”

“Which is?”

“That you won’t send a mission to the planet’s surface. Or go yourself.”

She studies him for a long moment. “I promise.” Her mouth tightens with a flash of anger she can’t quite repress. “I guess we can just leave all that knowledge there under the snow.”

He crosses to her and settles his hands on her shoulders. “Once we’ve defeated Vitiate, once we’re facing fewer enemies and have some breathing room, we can sit down and see what we need to do to reclaim that library.” His expression softens. “I know it’s important to you. But your disregard for danger to yourself can’t override your obligations to the Empire.”

She raises one eyebrow. “We’re Sith. Playing it safe isn’t something we do. I thought that would be something you’d understand.”

“You know I understand, and if the burden of authority didn’t rest on our shoulders I would be the first in line to join your expedition. But you and I, we have a greater duty as leaders.” He laces his fingers with hers and leads her out of the training room. “We must balance our natural inclination to hurl ourselves at every challenge with our responsibilities to our people.” 

She makes a noncommittal, grumpy _humph_ as they make their way through the living room, and neither of them say anything more until they’re back in the bedroom. 

“Be right back,” he says, squeezing her hand before disappearing into the ‘fresher. He emerges, towel around his waist, a short while later - six minutes, Kryn notes with some amusement, wondering if he missed his calling as the Empire’s most straitlaced moff by being born Force-sensitive. He scrubs the towel over his hair, drapes it over the back of his high-backed desk chair, and pulls on a pair of shorts before he slides into bed. 

He holds out his arm and waits until she scoots over next to him, then pulls the plush white blanket up around them. “Not to mention, if you end up a plaguebearer and force me to kill you, thus making me hold yet another selection meeting, I’m going to be very cross. Was the last one not tedious enough? Do I really deserve to have to sit through another one?”

She cranes her neck back to halfheartedly scowl at him. “Oh, because you’ll have to sit through a _meeting_? Not because my stunning intellect is gone and the Empire will be a lesser place for my passing and you’ll then have a rather unfortunate trend of killing your paramours?”

“Only when they force me to do so through their own poor decision-making,” he says mildly, “and I hardly need sing your praises when you do so well yourself.”

A wide smile blossoms on her face. “This is true, but _you_ sing them so nicely in that lovely voice of yours.” She holds up one hand in a mocking salute. “I solemnly swear I won’t make you kill me.” 

“And I appreciate that.” He kisses her forehead and relaxes more fully against his pillow, eyes already drifting closed, only half-noticing how easily he’s falling asleep now that they’re not arguing. She falls silent for a moment, thinking, and he’s nearly gone when she speaks again, sounding almost hesitant. 

“So ... we’re good?”

“Hmm?” He stifles a wide yawn, then trails his fingertips through her hair. “I’m not ecstatic about the reconnaissance mission. But yes, we’re good.”

“Just a suggestion for next time, don’t try the _I forbid you_ route.” She adjusts, pillowing her head on his shoulder, then throws an arm over him. “Honestly, I thought you had more tactical acumen than that.”

She’s right, but he’s not going to admit that. “The look on your face was almost worth it.”

“So brutish,” she mumbles. “Thought you had better manners. Makes me wonder why I love you.”

“You don’t wonder and we both know it.”

“Fiiiine,” she sighs, drawing the word out. “I don’t wonder. Why don’t you go to sleep, take a break from being so egotistical?”

A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Good night, Kryn.”

“Night, Matthius.”


	34. New Year, Same Mischief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out Kryn isn't the only Councilor with a weakness for roguery.

[1]  
Marr peruses his latest batch of reports from the Outer Rim: plans for how to best divide forces to protect new allies, as well as the progress reports for the local training camps. The two and a half months since the announcement have seen unexpected growth, tentative alliances, and encouraging recovery from the troubled times plaguing the Empire. The Republic has yet to make a move against them, though Marr’s sources gleefully relayed Supreme Chancellor Saresh’s impotent fury at the disobedience of the commander of forces and the Jedi grand master, both of whom stood their ground and refused to launch offensives. The treaty with the Hutt Cartel is holding fast. 

He can't shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong.

His office door slides open and Bryasere crosses the large office, coming a stop a respectful distance from his desk. She inclines her head before she speaks. “My lord, Darth Vowrawn is here to see you.”

Marr briefly wonders if he’s forgotten about a scheduled meeting. He's been sleeping less lately, but he doesn't think he's been slipping that much. “Send him in, Bryasere.”

She nods and silently departs; Vowrawn appears in short order and makes his way across the expanse, his steps swift and purposeful, then settles into one of the chairs across from Marr. “My friend, shall we expect you at tonight’s inaugural New Year party at Ember?” He pauses, smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “With your _associate_ , Darth Nox? I’m sure she’s going.” 

It takes every ounce of Vowrawn’s willpower to not laugh out loud as Marr very gently - far too gently - sets the datapad in his hand onto his desk. “I’m certain we’ve already had this discussion, Vowrawn,” he says. Vowrawn doesn't miss how the chilliness of Marr’s tone wouldn't be out of place on Hoth. “More than once, in fact.”

“Have we?” The words trail upward in an exaggeratedly innocent tone. “Oh, yes. I remember now. Purely political, that's right. Shall I assume you’re not going, then? Not even with such fascinating company?”

“You can so assume. Just as you've been able to so assume in the thirty-six years you've been asking me this same question, albeit without these current insinuations of salacious behavior.” Marr shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, Vowrawn. You’ve been quite the busybody since you returned. Was your sojourn so dull that now you must weave elaborate, fantastic dramas?”

“Not at all. I’d simply like to see you live it up at least _one_ time; after all, you are my friend. I'm almost concerned you don't know how.” He points at Marr’s holocom. “May I?”

Marr, not even bothering to make a guess at what the older Sith is up to and knowing if he asks he's just playing into Vowrawn’s hands, waves dismissively at the device. “Go ahead.” He has to concentrate mightily to refrain from sighing when Kryn flickers to holographic life, grinning widely. Of course he called Kryn. Marr’s only disappointed he didn’t see this coming.

“Darth Marr!” A pause as she reassesses who’s on the other end of her call, though her expression doesn’t change. “You’ve certainly gotten shorter since the last time we spoke.”

“Shorter but better looking, my dear,” Vowrawn says, ignoring that he can practically _hear_ Marr raise an eyebrow at the jest. “Are you attending the party at Ember this evening?”

She can’t help her withering look, astonished he’d even ask. “Of course; I wouldn’t miss it! I have the perfect dress.” She wags her eyebrows. “Well, that and there’s booze. I’m always up for drinking alcohol I don’t have to replace later.”

“Your reasoning, as always, is impeccable. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?”

“I ….” She considers, sorely tempted to ask Marr what he thinks of all this, even though she knows she wouldn’t get an answer. Far be it from her to not participate in a bit of mischief, though. “I would, Vowrawn,” she says, cheery. “What a superlative suggestion!”

“Excellent. I’ll call you before I pick you up.” He touches a button and disconnects the call, then settles back into his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Marr gives Vowrawn a long, appraising look. “Vowrawn. What are you up to?”

“Up to? I’m not up to anything. I simply don’t think she should have to go alone, and you know Ember won’t let that pirate of hers in the door.” Vowrawn shrugs. “But I’m sure you don’t care, right? After all, you’re just colleagues.”

Marr’s fingers tighten, almost imperceptibly, on the datapad now in his hand. “That’s right.”

“Nothing you want to tell me?” Vowrawn watches Marr steadily for a moment. “Not a thing?”

Even if Marr had planned on it - and he hadn’t - he certainly isn’t going to now. “I’m sure I told you weeks ago that we’re not discussing my private affairs, yes?”

“We might at least discuss that you _do_ have them, you know.” Vowrawn smothers the smile threatening to surface. “You sound a bit discomfited, my friend.”

Marr shakes his head, already going back to his reading. “Have you quite finished whatever tomfoolery you’re engaging in today?”

Vowrawn stands, proffers a surprisingly sarcastic bow. “I have! I’ll let you get back to your reports.”

[2]  
“How long can it take to put on a dress?” Marr mutters to himself, settled on a couch in Kryn’s living room. A finished book lays on the cushion next to him, and he checks his chrono again. All his other books are in her room, but she decreed he couldn’t come in until she’s done getting ready. “She’s been in there for an hour and a half.”

“What do you think?” 

Kryn’s standing in the doorway to her suite, posing in a _ta-da_ stance, her arms extended. The black dress, long sleeved and falling to mid-thigh, may as well have been painted on for how tight it is, except for the wide-cut v that exposes her torso from neck to navel, long multi-chain necklace falling between her half-bared breasts, gems sparkling riotously in the light.

For a long moment, Marr doesn’t say anything, taking her in from the curls piled on her head to the heels of her glittering black shoes, committing all of it to memory.

Kryn arches one brow. “Well?” 

“You don’t need me to tell you that you look magnificent in that dress,” he says, abandoning the couch and crossing the living room to her, heat bright in his eyes. “You know exactly how you look in that dress. You knew exactly the reaction I’d have. I’d wager you planned this whole thing last month when you brought it up, less than five minutes after I first told you I wasn’t going to this damn party.”

A smile teases the corners of her mouth. “Have I ever mentioned that I love how well you know me?” She gives him a mostly innocent look. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the party, instead of sitting here all alone? We have time for you to get ready, and I’d look so fetching on your arm.” She drags a fingertip along the bare skin of his forearm, smile skewing into a smirk.

The smirk falters when he grasps her upper arm, walking her back into her bedroom. “I loathe social gatherings. Yes, I’m sure I don’t want to come to the party.” He ignores all of her questions, then seats her on her bed and kneels in front of her, resting his hands on her knees with just enough strength to hold her in place.

Kryn glares at him, wiggling under his grasp, trying to get up. “What in blazes are you -”

He trails kisses, warm and tantalizing, along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, when he wraps his hands around her calves and pulls her to the edge of her bed, the skirt hitching up to her waist. He lifts her legs onto his shoulders, pleased when she leans back on her elbows to watch him. “You’ll be thinking of this all night, you know,” he murmurs as he shifts the slip of black fabric aside, watching her shudder with each slow, slow circle he traces around her clit … almost, but not _quite_ touching it.

Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, and her only answer is a groan that sneaks out as she rolls her hips toward him, the thread of her thoughts becoming more and more elusive. “Are you jealous?”

“Not at all,” he says, insulted she’d even suggest such a thing. “I’m merely answering your penchant for mischief with some of my own. And far be it from me to deny your predilection for charismatic older Sith in positions of power.”

“What a tawdry thing to suggest!” she gasps. “As though I’m only with you because ….” She trails off again, fighting to form words when all she wants to focus on is the maddening ecstasy of his callused skin, caressing her with a touch so light she hardly believes it's real. “I don’t have much time.”

“I know.” He watches her face, hand never stopping, until a low moan falls from her lips. “I don’t need much time.” The briefest of pauses, and he replaces his finger with his tongue. Her mouth opens wide but no sound comes out as she bolts upright, buries her hands in his hair, back already arching.

Her holocom chimes.

He looks up from between her legs. “Better answer it, Kryn. Do be sure to keep your voice calm, for propriety’s sake.” He leans forward and drags his tongue along her cleft. “Unless you want me to stop, of course.”

“No!” One hand tightens in his hair, holding him still as she reaches toward the device. “Don’t you dare!” She levitates the holocom, keeping it in the air just over his head to ensure she’ll only be shown from the shoulders up. As she touches the button, Marr redirects his attentions to her, gently pulling the delicate nub between his teeth and stifling a smile when she stutters.

“H-hello?”

“Good evening, my dear,” Vowrawn says. “Are you ready?”

She’s just opened her mouth to say yes when Marr manipulates the Force and makes her feel like he’s touching her everywhere at once: the gentle pinch of teeth on her earlobe, callused fingertips brushing the nape of her neck, a warm palm skimming the open v on her torso. 

“Oh! I … that is … give me ten more minutes? I -” She inhales sharply, desperately clinging to her remaining sliver of decorum and grasping for a plausible excuse for the delay. “I simply _can't_ find the right shoes for this dress.” She sounds like a vapid socialite, but she’s almost to the point of not caring and finishes in a rush, the words tumbling over each other as they fall from her lips.

“Are you all right?" Vowrawn asks, nothing but concern in his voice but a decidedly amused look on his face.

Marr doesn't even look up, so focused is he on his task, shifting slightly each time she tenses to hold her on the brink, and Kryn knows she needs to get off the holocom now or she's going to drop it on his head when her concentration finally gives way. “Yes! I just, ah, stubbed my toe on my bed coming to grab my holocom when you called.” She takes a long, deep breath, trying to ignore the wave of pleasure threatening to overtake her. “But I better go find those shoes.” She hisses a breath through her teeth. “Ten minutes?”

“As you wish.”

The call has barely disconnected before Kryn, hair askew, flings the holocom across the room, her hips rolling as she clutches handfuls of his black tunic. “Uncalled for!” she gasps, abandoning complete sentences entirely. The Force flows through her and she hauls him to his feet, fumbling at his belt. Their time is almost gone and she’s not wasting another second of it.

He attempts a halfhearted protest, but she pays him no mind and shoves his trousers down;. he's been trying to ignore the relentless drumbeat of his pulse, the fire low in his belly, the way he's aching for her, but if she's going to insist he's not going to be foolish enough to argue. He slides his hands under her ass and lifts her up while she guides his cock with her other hand, taking his length with one smooth undulation of her hips.

“Hold onto me, Kryn.”

She wraps one arm around his neck, giving him as much of a curious look as she can manage, given that most of her attention is focused on the need singing through her body, growing more clamorous with each indolent movement.

He reaches back with both hands, closing his fingers around her ankles, and folds her legs under, the heels of her glittery shoes touching her ass. “Good?”

Her assent is drawn out and sibilant, hissed into the stillness of her room. She drags a fingertip along his jawline, grasps his chin between her thumb and forefinger, and pulls him to her, her kiss fierce and hungry. “Stop dallying and fuck me, Matthius.”

He needs no other encouragement, muscles in his arms flexing as he bounces her on his cock, her breasts grazing his chest as she clings to him. He's kept her teetering on the edge for some time, and his rough, deep strokes prove to be her undoing; she buries her face in his neck to muffle her cries, shaking with the force of her release. She spasms around him as his hands tighten on her ankles and he strains against her as he comes, holding her flush to him as he shudders with aftershocks. 

He turns and collapses backward onto the bed, landing with a clearly triumphant Kryn still sitting astride him. She splays her hands on his stomach, skimming them upward to cup his face and kiss him. “You should indulge in mischief more often,” she rasps, breathing hard, “and we have three minutes to spare. Well done.” She rolls off him and hops off the bed, disappearing into her ‘fresher and returning in short order, dress righted, re-pinning her hair.

A chime sounds through the expansive apartment as she takes a large swallow of water from the glass on the bedside table. “There's my date.” She grabs her clutch off the settee and detours back to the bed to give him one more lingering kiss before her mouth twists in a leer. “I find that I quite enjoy the idea of the leader of the Empire sprawled naked in my bed and eagerly awaiting my return, so do stay just like that.”

She sweeps out of the room before he can reply, hurrying across the living room to answer the door. “Darth Vowrawn. I apologize for the delay.”

“No apology necessary, my dear.” He examines her for a moment, giving her a knowing look. “You're quite flushed. Exertions from ... finding your shoes?”

Kryn gives him a cocky grin. “I never kiss and tell, no matter how much Andronikos likes it when I do,” she adds with a twitch of her eyebrow. 

“Understood. I do hope you're not quite so reserved as Marr,” Vowrawn says, laughing. “It makes for such pedestrian conversation.”

“Perish the thought!” Kryn clasps a hand to her chest. “It hurts that you could even suggest I could be anything other than sparkling and witty.” She plucks her cloak off the hook and settles it onto her shoulders.

Vowrawn extends his arm. “My sincerest apologies, Nox. Shall we go add some class to this party?”

[3]  
Kryn tries her hardest to tiptoe through the apartment, but furniture keeps jumping in her way, and someone _obviously_ moved that little cafe table or she wouldn’t have walked right into it, and then the stupid doorway isn’t where she remembers it being when she left the house earlier. She winces when her bedroom door hisses open, then grins widely when she sees Marr propped up against the headboard, datapad in hand. “You’re still up!” she says with a brightness only achievable through the copious consumption of alcohol. “I thought you’d be asleep by now!”

“Hard to sleep when someone let a bantha loose in the apartment,” he says dryly. “How was the party?”

She doesn’t answer, all her attention diverted to wrestling with her skintight dress. Her arms flail every which way to no avail, hairpins scatter across her rug, and she finally stomps her foot and growls, then blows curled strands of hair out of her face. “What’s wrong with this stupid dress?”

“Either you’re too inebriated to take it off, or it just hates you, I presume.”

“Obviously the second.” She gives him a reasonable facsimile of a pouty look. “Help me?”

One eyebrow arches toward his hairline. “You mean to tell me you got so intoxicated you can’t undress yourself?” 

“You mean to tell me you _don’t_ want to peel me out of this dress?” she asks, sly.

He regards her for a long moment, then tosses the blanket back and swings his legs off the bed. “Come here.” She weaves across the room and stops in front of him, a hand on her cocked hip. He shakes his head. “I can’t take it off if you’re going to stand around and pose. Raise your arms.”

She obliges, though the smirk is still on her face when he pulls the dress over her head and tosses it aside. Without waiting for an invitation, she settles onto his lap, then rakes her hands through his hair, more unruly than usual. “You fell asleep when it was wet, didn’t you? It’s all curly. It looks cute.” She giggles. “Has anyone ever called you cute? They should, because you are. Well, I should, anyway, because you are and you're mine.” Without waiting for a response, she cups his face and kisses him full on the mouth, slow and sensual.

Marr is half-convinced he’d have ended up tipsy if she’d kissed him any longer. “What in blazes were you drinking all night?”

She tips her head to the side, her face shifting through a range of ridiculous expressions as she struggles to remember. “Umm. What _were_ those? They were kind of bluish? No, blue-violet? Someone - Callidus? No, someone else … bought me one and then that’s all I ….” She falls silent, laboriously sifting through uncertain memories. “Electric blossoms! That’s it. They’re quite good.”

“A bit too sweet for my liking, but thank you for the thorough sampling.” He considers for a moment. “Kryn, you have a tendency to become garrulous when you drink. Vowrawn didn’t wheedle information out of you, did he?”

Kryn’s mouth falls open. “You mean I _wasn’t_ supposed to tell him about us, complete with pantomimed demonstrations? Atroxa isn’t quite as good a kisser as you, unfortunately, but she was an excellent surrogate nonetheless … you know, being serious and all.” She wags an eyebrow at him. “We even reenacted that night on the war table on Yavin.” 

He’s dismayed that he’s not entirely sure she’s joking, not that a display like that would even make the list of talked-about events at a Sith party. “Kryn -”

She rides right over whatever it is he’s going to say. “I am going to have to decline our standing Kalday dinner date, since Atroxa and I both feel dinner ought to be involved after getting to know each other so well … on a table, no less.” 

Playing along with this charade is proving to be quite entertaining. “Very well. Are you sure you don’t just want to bring your new girlfriend over for dinner?”

“No, I think that would be awkward, given that she was, you know, roleplaying you. Don’t you?”

He nods seriously. “Excellent point.” He brushes a curl back behind her ear. “You know I know this is all nonsense, yes?”

“What?” She gives him a look of genuine astonishment. “How?”

“Because if you’d confirmed our relationship to Vowrawn, he’d have immediately left the party to comm me,” he says with a laugh, “likely to crow about getting the information out of you when I’ve continued to strenuously deny his every accusation.” 

“Damn.” She folds her arms, perturbed. “And here I was keeping a straight face and everything.” Her ire is gone almost as quickly as it appears, swept away by amusement as she recalls something else. “You _were_ quite the subject of gossip, though I gathered that’s just a Ember party tradition at this point. Vowrawn asks you to go, you demur, cue wild drunken speculation about who you are and what you look like and why you choose to be such a public recluse.” A mischievous look flits across her face. “They’d all be so disappointed to find out that it’s because you’re dreadfully dull.”

Offense twists his features. “Dull? What happened to cute?” He wraps one arm around her waist and pulls her flush against him, heedless of her squeak of surprise. A grin crinkles the corners of his eyes as he pushes off the floor with one foot and rolls toward the other side of the bed, planting her flat on her back in one swift movement. “You didn’t find me _dull_ earlier this evening.” He props himself up on one elbow and looks down at her, one hand splayed on her chest. “Unless I was greatly misinterpreting the sounds that were coming out of your mouth.”

She halfheartedly struggles to escape but makes no headway because she’s far too drunk for these sorts of shenanigans and laughing too hard to breathe properly. “It shouldn’t -” She gasps for air, flailing at him, “be so easy to needle you.”

He affects a wide-eyed hangdog look. “You called me dull.”

“Oh, please. Don’t even try that with me. What happened to the man who wears that label like a badge of honor?” She sticks her tongue out at him. “And besides, if I found you dull I wouldn’t be here.” 

“Are you _certain_?”

She stops and thinks, craning her head back to look at the decorations on the walls. “Wait. This is my house, isn’t it? _You_ wouldn’t be here.” She scowls when he starts laughing. “I knew what I meant, and so did you!”

“It shouldn’t be so easy to needle you,” he says, leaning down to brush his lips across hers. He’d meant it be short and simple, but she cards her hands into his hair and he’s never been able to resist that, and the kiss lengthens in the silence of the room. She's warm and boozy and pliant underneath him, squirming closer without realizing just how much of an effect each movement is having. 

At least, that's what Marr thinks until he sees the deviousness, albeit _sleepy_ deviousness, plain as day on her face.

She trails fingertips across his bare chest, her mouth drifting from his cheek to his neck as her hand slips downward. “Maybe you're not quite so dull after all, my love.” Her teeth close on his collarbone, sending a ripple of heat through his chest, but before he can remark on her term of endearment she wraps a leg around his waist. “Come here. I've missed you.”


	35. Revelry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empire has survived a turbulent year that has seen the rise of traitors and the fall of Ziost, among other things. It's time to celebrate that survival and ring in the new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Imperial Edict of 15 Muur, 1341 is discussed in [Chapter 27](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3265439/chapters/12732080).

[1]  
The Imperial Fair has always been the most raucous celebration in the Empire, the culmination of an entire _week_ of raucous celebrations marking another year of survival and growth and resilience. Kaas City always sees a boom of visitors and tourists, and this year is no exception; indeed, the city is filled to bursting in light of the Imperial Edict of 15 Muur, 1341. There are still sections of the city meant only for Sith, and there always will be; after all, the Sith are the pinnacle of Imperial society, but for the first time in the history of the Empire the festivities aren't limited or divided, though tensions do occasionally run high. 

The ringing in of 1342 is especially poignant; the loss of Ziost still weighs heavily on hearts and minds, but people are turning out in force, claiming this new year in spite of all that happened at the end of the last. Though the lightning storms still crash overhead, this year’s Fair has been graced with surprisingly temperate weather: no rain, only passingly chilly air, a light breeze skipping through the streets, whispering around the crowds that throng Kaas City’s varied districts.

Businesses, civic centers, and gaily decorated homes and apartment balconies line the streets, festooned in green ribbons and white lights, symbols of growth and strength. The loudest celebrations are nearest the army base, of course: the green and white motif is draped over even the most shady cantinas and food carts, and the streets are crowded with soldiers of every rank, partying hard on this favorite of festival days. The garden district boasts beautifully woven garlands of green vines and white flowers decorating street lamps and gazebos and buildings, cultivated by Imperial botanists just for this celebration. The gems and fashions on display in the windows of couture salons boast rare emeralds and cream silks. 

The cultural district is piping music into the speakers that line the wide, covered walkways, a sprightly selection of compositions both new and old. It is alive with color, the flash of gold jewelry, the sparkle of gems dripping from earrings and necklaces and bracelets, and it's here that the Council has chosen to loosely congregate before making their way to the Spires of Victory for the statement that will signal the "official" close to the Fair, though the celebrations will continue long into the night.

Kryn casts a longing look at a restaurant as she strolls with Vowrawn, inhaling deeply of the melange of scents drifting out of its open door. "We need to be done with this announcement quickly, before my stomach growling becomes the highlight of the evening." She tosses her cascade of red curls, a striking contrast to her glittering white dress, back over her shoulder. “We should have come earlier and gone to dinner,” she laments. “I’m sure between the two of us we could have finagled a reservation somewhere.”

"We’ll have to remember that for the ball, my dear.” He casts a look around, sighing when he doesn’t see any other Councilors. “Finding anyone in this pandemonium is going to be quite the adventure.” He extends his arm. “Shall we mill in the direction of the Spires? I'm sure we'll run into someone along the way."

Kryn takes it as she stretches through the Force; she swiftly locates Marr with far less effort than she's expecting given the number of people out and about this evening. He’s standing near the entrance to the square … but how to point this out without giving away how she found him? She makes a show of going on tiptoes, pretending to examine the crowd's currents and eddies before she points in Marr’s direction. "See how those people are kind of avoiding that area over there? I bet that's Marr. He doesn't exactly exude the kind of jollity most people like to be around." She shrugs. "And if it's some other grouchy Sith, well, at least we're heading in the right direction."

"Excellent suggestion. Once our Seconds return from their supper, we'll - oh, and here they are!"

Kryn's Second, Senna - a willowy Sith Pureblood with waist-length black hair and a surprisingly easy smile - stops a respectful distance from the two Councilors, inclining her head. Asrin, the older Sith with her - her father and Vowrawn's Second - does the same.

If asked by the right person, Kryn _might_ admit she chose Senna as her Second partially as a not so subtle jab at the Empire's anti-alien sentiments. She’d be the first to admit, however, that Senna was an excellent choice for the task, proving herself to be an extraordinarily capable Second almost immediately. She’d easily assumed the myriad detail-oriented duties required of their sphere, though she’d made it abundantly clear she preferred spending her time traveling from site to site, rather than sitting in the Citadel waiting on reports like so many of the other Seconds, and Kryn was more than willing to give her free rein, as long as she performed to the standard Kryn demanded. 

Kryn, upon learning Senna would be on the homeworld for the Fair, had insisted she come out and celebrate, a demand seconded by Vowrawn to Asrin. It had been Kryn's idea to send the father and daughter off for a nice dinner while Kryn and Vowrawn did the obligatory elbow-rubbing and hobnobbing required of these sorts of get-togethers, and she's pleased to see the smile on Senna's face when the Sith straightens from her bow.

"How was your dinner?" Kryn has to raise her voice to be heard as they draw nearer to the entrance to the square. "I hope Zatlan's didn't disappoint."

"Not at all, my lord." Senna looks at her father, who nods in agreement. "The cuisine was divine."

"Good, good. Perhaps after this speech we can - "

"Pardon my interruption, my lords." Bryasere approaches the group and bows, her cape swirling around her ankles when she stops. "Darth Marr is requesting everyone assemble at the Spires."

Kryn can’t help a mischievous grin. “Is Darth Marr all right with you wearing that cape? He seems to bear them quite a grudge.”

The only thing that gives away Bryasere’s amusement at the query is the slightest twitch in her cheek. “He didn’t say, my lord, but it is possible I’ll hear about it later.”

“I’d expect you will. But couldn’t he just call? He sent you through this crush of people to find us?” Kryn makes a face. “Do you have to find everyone?"

"Ah, no, my lord, he simply said he saw you over here and sent me to get you while he called the rest."

Kryn doesn’t look toward where she knows he’s standing, but she doesn’t have to to know how implausible it is he could see her through this press of people. She wisely chooses not to mention this. "Very well, we shall increase our pace." As Bryasere departs, Kryn turns to Senna. "I imagine all the Seconds will be congregating near the front of the square. I know that Jasta was very interested to hear where your travels have taken you this time."

Senna grins; she and Darth Atroxa's Second have become surprisingly good friends over the last two months. "I have a few stories for her, too. If you don't mind, my lord, I'll go find her now."

Kryn flicks her fingers in the direction of the Spires, and Senna melts into the crowd, her father close behind. She and Vowrawn find Marr a few moments later, paying no heed to the flow of people that avoids him as he stands at the top of the stairs, as unmoving as a statue. 

“Stop being so boisterous,” Kryn says, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Honestly, you’re one of the rulers of the Sith. Shouldn’t you be more sedate?”

He doesn’t move. “Will you _ever_ grow tired of these jests, Darth Nox?”

“No,” she says airily, not trying to rein in her smirk. “I suspect I won’t.”

Marr sighs but doesn’t have a chance to respond; a human woman clad in black fitted armor stops a step away from them and inclines her head, her close-cropped blonde hair gleaming. 

“Good evening, my lords. I hope this year’s Fair finds you well. As you are no doubt aware, my master will not be attending, but he has sent me in his stead to represent his interests.”

“Hello, Fal’rai.” Kryn smiles at Rictus’ Second, though the woman does not return the expression. “Are you enjoying the Fair?”

“I was not sent to ‘enjoy’ myself, Darth Nox. I was commanded to be on the lookout for any murmurings or whispers that might provoke an investigation by the Wrath, and report them to Darth Marr.”

Kryn always forgets how serious Fal’rai is, and rapidly readjusts her planned conversational gambits. “Ah. My mistake. Have you heard any such murmurings?”

“Not as yet, but the night is not over.” One hand comes to rest on her hip, a hairsbreadth away from her saberstaff. “If you have no further need of me, I will select a good vantage point for the speech.”

Marr nods, and she disappears as silently as she arrived.

“That’s one I think might be more serious than you, Marr,” Vowrawn chuckles. “I asked her once about Rictus’ sphere and what it does.”

“And?” Kryn can’t keep the eagerness out of her voice.

“And I decided to never ask that question again after the look she gave me.” Vowrawn shakes his head. “I don’t think I’d want to earn that woman’s ire. I occasionally wonder if she’s simply eliminated Rictus and is fooling us with a very elaborate hologram. If anyone could do it, she could.”

“Vowrawn.” Marr doesn’t sound as disapproving as Kryn is expecting. “Your penchant for curiosity is going to be the death of you one day.”

Vowrawn smiles. “Just because the Hand was trying to assassinate me and the former Wrath went out of his way to stymie my inquiries into his condition? Nonsense, my friend. I may not want Fal’rai angry with me, but she is still only a lord. I’m not truly concerned.”

Darth Otium joins them, Dioneric two steps behind her. “Good evening, Councilors.” She turns to her Second. “You may go, Dioneric.” As he departs toward the square, she looks around. “I daresay this year’s Fair has been a rousing success.”

Vowrawn nods. “We’d been preparing for travel and tourism to be down, but all of my preliminary reports have been highly optimistic. Our people are nothing if not resilient. How have your booths fared?”

Darth Otium had worked tirelessly in the weeks leading up to the Fair to organize a series of informational posts scattered throughout Kaas City, detailing the new diplomatic initiative and the way the changes to citizenship policies would be affecting citizens at every level of Imperial society, citing the need for diplomacy on the homefront given the magnitude of change being implemented. “Quite well. The Diplomatic Service has had a surprising number of inquiries regarding job openings, and I think we’ve done quite a bit to assuage fears and reassure people that there isn’t going to be any kind of takeover of the Empire.”

Marr comes as close to an undignified snort as Kryn’s ever heard from him. “Ruled by fear that they might lose power they don’t even have, to non-Force sensitives at that. Ridiculous.”

Darth Nomas strides up, talking a mile a minute as her Second, Ry’ha, takes notes. “Fit that new meeting in sometime tomorrow morning before ten. If you have to reschedule something else, do it, I want to see the prototype he’s come up with as soon as possible, it was _extremely_ promising.” She looks up. “What’s ridiculous?”

“Middling Sith panicking over the supposed imminent hostile takeover by all the slaves they’ve mistreated over the years,” Kryn says. “I mean, it’s not unfounded, I suppose. They’re not all as personable as I am.”

People shift as Atroxa marches toward them, hurriedly getting out of her way and giving her a clear path to the swiftly assembling Council. She glowers, hands resting on her hips. “They’re Sith. They either welcome the challenge and succeed or they weren’t fit to be Sith in the first place”. 

Tekton, next to Atroxa, nods. “Quite right.”

Mortis arrives with Callidus; their Seconds, deep in conversation, split off and make their way down the stairs. “Yes, but it’s better that they accept the changes than we have blood running in the streets,” Mortis says. “A transition with few revolts serves us all.” 

Atroxa is brusque as ever. “I’m aware. I simply have no sympathy for those who would cower and weaken us.”

 _Are you sure you two aren’t related? Or the same person?_ Kryn’s mirth is clear as her thoughts brush Marr’s.

_For the fourth time, yes. I’m sure. I have a family chart to prove it._

_Ooh!_ Kryn has to bite down hard on an outright grin. _Can I see it?_

_No._

Kryn gives him a grumpy look as Vowrawn checks his chrono and nods to Marr. “It’s nearly time. Once Aruk and Tenere arrive, we should begin.”

[2]  
“Wait … wait wait _wait_!” Leader’s voice is a harsh whisper. “Get back here! They’re going to see you!”

The narrow alley is shadowed, a marked contrast to the light and noise of Victory Square, and a dozen people, all humans, are milling around in it, loitering far enough away from its opening to remain unseen. They’re all dressed in nondescript clothing, everything about them calculated to be difficult to recall later. None of them know the others’ names, simply referring to each other by a series of code names, and none of them know Leader’s contact, the one who’s been feeding them the information to plan this attack. 

The woman at the edge of the alleyway - shaved head, slight, known only as Sneak - stops, looking back at her. “Why don’t we just go now? I’m sick of waiting! They’re standing there like nerfs waiting for slaughter!”

“For one, because there are still two missing,” Leader says. “For two,” and her tone turns condescending, “because a direct attack on the Dark Council is suicide, you fucking idiot!” Amid murmurs of agreement, Leader wraps her hand around Sneak’s arm, forcibly yanking her back into the shadows. “We’re here to sow terror and discontent. We have _orders_. We’re not going to throw away more than two months of careful planning because you can’t control yourself!”

Anger twists Sneak’s delicate features. “We’ve had orders our whole stinking lives! Why are we taking more?”

“Because _these_ orders come from someone who agrees with us! But they have much more knowledge of the inner workings of the Sith than we do. So we’re gonna do what they told us, _how_ they told us.” Leader tightens her grip. “Got it?”

“Ow!” The younger woman struggles in Leader’s grip, but can’t break it. “Got it! Get off me!”

Leader’s eyes narrow to slits, her expression coldly appraising. She shakes Sneak’s arm hard enough to make the woman’s teeth click together. “Tell me the plan. I want to be sure you understand. If you can’t handle the mission, you’re out, and I need to know before we start.”

“Go for the Seconds,” Sneak says sullenly, not meeting Leader’s eyes. “If there’s a chance, take potshots at the Council, but the Seconds are the priority.”

Leader tosses Sneak’s arm out of her grip. “Good. Don’t fuck it up, Sneak.”

“I _won’t_.”

A slight man with light brown hair - Tailor - on lookout just outside the alley, leans around the corner. “They’re starting!”

Everyone in the alley turns to look at Leader, whose face is wreathed in a sharklike smile. “You know your targets. Do not draw attention to yourselves as you make you way through these people. Attack on my signal. Go!”

Her operatives casually work their way through the mass of Imperials gathered to watch the Council’s speech, but Leader’s attention is drawn to the eleven Sith standing at the base of the Spires. Her lip curls in a sneer as her gaze comes to rest on Darth Nox. She’d lobbied hard to be assigned to Nox’s Second, so outraged is she; Nox should be here supporting _them_ , not standing with the rest of those power-hungry despots, and she deserves what she gets for her betrayal. Her contact, however - known only to Leader as the Mistress of Retribution - did not see fit to give Leader what she asked for, assigning her instead to “a much more prominent target”.

Darth Marr is spouting some nonsense Leader knows he doesn’t believe - Sith don’t believe in anything but advancing themselves and gathering power and killing for sport, and the Council are the worst of the lot - as she begins her own descent down the wide stairs, her eyes trained on the dark haired woman in the black cape, standing a short distance from the dais and the gathered Councilors. 

As disappointed as she is that she won’t be killing Darth Nox’s Second, Leader has to admit that killing Darth Marr’s right in front of him is an excellent consolation prize.

[3]  
Byrasere will never admit it, but she only listens to these speeches with half an ear, preferring instead to spend the time people-watching. They’re good speeches, full of all the kinds of things you’re supposed to tell the Empire with a bit of a new populist bent, things that give you that nice warm feeling in your chest, but she’s been Darth Marr’s Second for nearly nine years, and after awhile they all kind of start to sound the same.

This gathering is quite large, spilling up each set of stairs that lead away from Victory Square, and it looks as though there are people from every walk of Imperial life here. Children, already bored, are chasing each other in tight circles, their voices occasionally drifting beyond the circle of their parents’ repeated admonitions of _stand still and listen_.

Some people arrive late, to her surprise, and are slinking through the continually shifting mass of people for a better viewpoint, drawing Bryasere’s attention from where she’s watching one Sith taking notes. One of the latecomers angles to the left of the crowd, focused intently on something she can’t see from her position. Another, a lanky man with the most nondescript brown hair Bryasere has ever seen, is bound for Torudo, Callidus’ Second, who’s standing with Mortis’ Second, Domisan. Bryasere briefly wonders if he knows them, even though his clothing - plain white tunic, basic gray trousers - doesn’t suggest he’s Sith.

Bryasere looks away, then looks back. 

Something is off about that man.

She’s turning it over in her mind, trying to suss out if it’s genuine unease or something unfounded, when there’s a small yet abrupt movement in the corner of her vision. A slight woman with a shaved head has taken a quick step around Senna and is staring intently at the Councilors. _Too_ intently.

Bryasere gently reaches through the Force, weaving her way through everyone between her and the woman, eyes widening at the anger, burning white-hot, consuming all thoughts but one.

_cut off the head the body will die_

Four things happen almost simultaneously.

The woman draws a sword and leaps silently for the dais, face twisted with hate.

Bryasere shouts, her voice ringing over the noise and the speech and the clamoring of her own startled thoughts. “My lord, _watch out_!”

Darth Marr’s lightsaber activates, a crimson death sentence.

Agony explodes in Bryasere’s chest, and her fading consciousness briefly, nonsensically wonders if he’s somehow stabbed her before it melts into the sweet void of oblivion.


	36. Insurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The malcontents are put down, and the Council will have answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does contain one interrogation scene. It's not gratuitously violent, but it _is_ an interrogation and thus not quite pleasant.

[1]  
“My lord, _watch out_!”

Multiple skirmishes break out across the plaza as the insurrectionists take Bryasere’s cry as their signal, the light glinting off their easily-concealed knives. Unarmed civilians press toward the stairs as lightsabers ignite, the Seconds not willing to go down without a fight.

 _On the dais …_  
There isn’t space for Marr to think between Bryasere’s shouted warning and the first swing of the attacking woman’s blade, instinctively swatted aside with a single swipe of his lightsaber as he shouts orders. “Nox, to Bryasere! Atroxa, back left! Mortis, the ISB!” He doesn’t wait to watch them obey, bringing his lightsaber hilt down on Sneak’s head. She crumples to the dais, holds out a hand and opens her mouth to speak as he raises his weapon for the killing blow.

“Insect.” The saber comes down in one powerful swing, and she’s already forgotten as he surveys the scene in front of him.

Jasta, Atroxa’s Second, is engaged in hand to hand combat with a short, slight man, unaware of a second attacker taking advantage of the chaos to sneak around behind her. Senna has her right hand clutched to her left shoulder, seemingly heedless of the blood running down her arm. Marr leaps off the dais, landing between Jasta and the second man, shielding her as Jasta drives her lightsaber through their first attacker’s shoulder, right where he’d stabbed Senna. He falls to the ground with a faint cry of pain.

“Jasta, my arm, it _burns_.” Senna’s words are ground fine between teeth gritted in pain. “There was something on that blade.”

A swift and savage flash, and the second attacker falls at Marr’s feet, dead. He pivots to stare impassively at the man with the hand clapped to his shoulder. “Take that vermin to the dais, Second.”

Jasta hauls the short man to his feet; he tries to escape, and she spins him around, deftly wrapping her arm around his neck. He gasps, flailing ineffectually at her forearm as she tightens her hold. “You done running, coward?”

“Second.”

She looks over at Marr. “Yes, my lord.”

“If he gives you too much trouble, kill him.”

The man’s eyes grow wide and he stops struggling. Jasta releases his neck, ignites her saber, and shoves him toward the dais. “Get over there.”

Marr’s attention lights on Senna, noting the black veins creeping out from under her hand. “Get to Darth Callidus. He needs to look at your shoulder before you go to the medcenter. If Biotic Science doesn’t have the full database of known poisons, Intelligence should.”

Senna nods weakly. “Yes, my lord.” She shuffles after Jasta.

 _Just west of the dais …_  
Lightning arcs from Kryn’s hand, catching the fleeing Leader in an arc of blinding light. Bryasere is unmoving but breathing next to the shaking woman when Kryn rushes to her side, Otium hard on her heels. “Check Bryasere, I want to ensure this … thing … is still alive.”

She wraps Force bonds around Leader’s wrists and waits until lightning has stopped skittering across her skin to check the woman’s pulse. “I hope Marr lets me be present when he questions you,” Kryn murmurs. “I want to see how little time it takes him to break you.”

Leader gives Kryn a look of pure venom. “Traitor! You colluded with _them_ while the rest of us begged for scraps!”

“And what do you do, not three months after you’re freed? You attack the Council! Idiots.” Kryn waves a dismissive hand before she gives Leader a shove that sends her staggering toward the dais steps. 

Leader barely avoids crashing face first into the stairs. “The only good Sith is a dead Sith!” 

Kryn nods, pantomimes talking with one hand. “Yes, yes. We’re all familiar with you types and your rhetoric. Get over there with your compatriots and shut up.” Once Leader is in Mortis’ custody, Kryn turns back to Bryasere. “How is she?”

Otium shakes her head. “It’s bad. I’ve done what I can to stabilize her but we need to get her to a medcenter as soon as possible. She's lost a lot of blood and that blade was poisoned.” 

Kryn gives a sharp nod. “Call an ambulance for her, now. Use Marr’s name if they get recalcitrant.”

 _In the northeast corner of the plaza …_  
Fal’rai, standing at the bottom of the northeastern stairs, eviscerates the attacker who darts in on her left, saberstaff swinging in a wide arc. As he drops with a groan, she points at another pulling a dagger. “Stop that man!”

Dioneric pivots sharply as a soldier behind him tackles the man to the ground, smacking his head against the duracrete one extra time for good measure. Fal’rai strides through the parting crowd and stares at the man, her face twisting with disgust. She crouches, yanks him up by his shirt. “You thought you could attack the Council and _succeed_? When will you wretches ever learn?”

“You’ll see! Just because I failed doesn’t mean everyone else did!” He spits at Fal’rai. “The Council and their lickspits. Your time is coming!”

Fal’rai makes a fist with her free hand and sharply twists it; there’s a wet, snapping sound and the man’s head wrenches at an unnatural angle before Fal’rai lets him drop to the ground. “I’ll be sure to quake in my boots.” She stands, gaze landing on the soldier. “You there! Begin restoring order.”

“Yes, my lord.” He bows, then raises his voice to be heard, shouting at people to stop running and to detain any suspicious persons for immediate questioning by the Council.

“If you’re not injured,” Fal’rai says to Dioneric, “get to the front and find where you can be of the most use.”

Dioneric inclines his head and strides toward the dais.

 _In the northwest corner of the plaza …_  
Atroxa’s bellowed _move!_ clears a space before she lands with a resounding thud, feral smile on her face, twin lightsabers already out. She spots a knife in the hand of the woman in front of her and lashes out with a wounding blow, wanting to keep one alive for questioning. The woman collapses with a cry, voice rising in pitch when Atroxa brings her boot heel down on her ankle to ensure she doesn't escape.

She's already seeking her next target, and addresses Bekro, Tekton’s Second, without looking at him. “Can you fight?”

Bekro nods. “I only took a glancing blow to my leg, my lord. It burns a little but I’ll get it checked when we’re done.”

“Good.” She jerks her head in the direction of a man rather obtrusively running away from Aran, who is motionless on the ground. “Kill that one, then check Aran. If he’s dead, bring his body to the dais.”

“Yes, my lord.” His lightsaber is already in his hand as he rushes toward the fleeing attacker.

Malia, Aruk’s Second, is on the ground reaching for her lightsaber when Atroxa, snarling, shoves her sabers through the chest of her opponent. The Second climbs to her feet with difficulty, wincing as she puts her full weight on her left leg. “There was … something on the blade he stabbed me with, my lord. The pain is spreading. And getting worse.”

“Can you get to the dais?”

Malia nods slowly. “Yes, my lord.”

“Get to Darth Callidus. He’ll need to look you before you go to the medcenter.” She pivots sharply and yanks the still-living attacker up by the arm, ignoring her pained shout as her weight lands on her crushed ankle. “Get up. The Council much desires to speak with you, worm.” She hauls her across the plaza toward the dais, swiftly outpacing Malia.

 _Near the dais …_  
Tekton, standing at the corner of the stage, notices the two men still behind Domisan and Torudo as the crowd thins, but she’s a split second too late; both Seconds cry out as knives are driven between their shoulder blades.

“Stop those men!” She thunders toward the two men attempting to retreat into the crowd, reaching them in short order after a number of people turn to block their escape. She spares no time for discourse or niceties, putting her lightsaber through the first’s heart and knocking the other unconscious before turning back to the two Seconds. 

“Grit your teeth, Second,” she says, curling her hand around the knife hilt protruding from Torudo’s back.

“Do it.”

He bites back a shout of pain as she swiftly removes it, pressing her hand to the wound to stop the flow of blood. She repeats the action for Domisan, then nods toward the dais. “Walk. I’ll keep pressure on these til we get there,” she says, suddenly grateful it’s not far as blood seeps between her fingers, soaking the armorweave under her hands.

Callidus circles around to Tekton’s side, already pulling something from a small pouch on his belt. “Torudo, on three. One, two, three.” A swift movement, and he’s got kolto-soaked gauze on the wound, noting the blackness around the edges of the incision. “Domisan. One, two, three.” The same maneuver, and Callidus looks across the stage. 

“Darth Tenere, can you assist?”

Lana nods, leaping off the dais and crossing to his side. “Of course. What do you require of me?”

“Just hold these here. I need to get some of my guys down here. I don’t have the supplies I need, and all of these Seconds are going to have to go to the medcenter. Soon.”

As Tekton turns from their conversation, she sees Ry’ha thrashing back and forth, attempting to shake off a man who’s got her in a bear hug. The slender woman grimaces, then flings herself backward. Tekton augments her movement with the Force, sending them flying backward. The man’s head connects with the duracrete with a stomach-turning crunch and he stills, his arms sliding lifelessly from around Ry’ha. 

Ry’ha stands, brushes off her robes, and takes a deep breath before turning to deliver a vicious kick to the dead man’s ribs. “Thank you, my lord.”

Nomas’ voice rings across the plaza as Tekton goes to retrieve the unconscious man on the stairs. “Ry’ha! Get the medical chief down here now! Callidus requires his assistance.”

 _On the dais …_  
Vowrawn guides Senna, who’s growing increasingly pale, across the platform to Callidus, whose eyes widen when he sees the condition of her shoulder. As she’s sinking to her knees, he turns to look out across the plaza and notices a familiar figure on the ground near where Senna and Jasta had been standing earlier. He touches Mortis on the shoulder. “I’ll return momentarily.”

Mortis, glaring down at the assailants who’ve already been brought to him, nods. 

Quickly covering the distance, Vowrawn drops to one knee next to Asrin’s body, checking his pulse even though he knows beyond doubt his Second is gone. He glances over his shoulder to where Senna is sitting on the dais, and sighs. He’ll have to tell Senna and her mother, Laina. “Oh, Asrin. I am sorry, my friend.” He gently slides his arms under Asrin’s shoulders and knees, grunting as he stands, and solemnly makes his way back to the stage. 

Sirens wail in the distance, and the Imperial Fair of 1342 comes to a jarring, violent close.

[2]  
The plaza, at long last, is almost shockingly silent, though the dais is a scene of quiet chaos. The corpses of slain attackers are laid in a neat line along the wall, waiting for pickup by the Imperial Security Bureau. Aran and Asrin, the two slain Seconds, rest at the left end of the dais, covered with sheets. Five of the six wounded Seconds sit in a row along the front edge, monitored by Darth Siscien, chief medical officer of the Imperial Medical Corps.

Otium was adamant about not moving Bryasere, but was overridden by Marr, who brought her to the dais himself. Darth Siscien had cut away the side of her dress armor, revealing a growing web of the same black vein present on Senna’s shoulder. Callidus and Tenere are comparing their poison databases as they wait for the medcenter transport.

An ISB officer looks through his own database and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Darth Mortis. None of these people are in ours. No prior records, nothing that’s drawn our attention. Perhaps Intelligence will have more luck.”

Mortis nods. “I’d assumed as much, Captain Saito. Given the nature of the attack, Edict 327-Leth is now in effect. Ensure this information is disseminated as swiftly as possible.”

“I’ll begin calling the contingency shifts now.” He consults his datapad again. “Did these people attack anyone else? A pattern we need to be aware of?”

Marr, standing still as stone behind the wounded Seconds, looks over. “No. It was the Seconds only. This was a targeted attack.”

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Captain Saito.” Lana strides across the platform to the three men. “My analysts are currently scanning our files for new and revived dissenter organizations. As soon as we have that information ready, we will forward it to the Security Bureau.”

“Thank you, my lord.” He looks up the stairs as a pair of officers begins making their way down. “If you’ll excuse me, Councilors, we’ll get to work on cleanup.” He inclines his head and exits the dais.

Marr stares at the prisoners without focusing, arms folded. Fidgety, seething rage is unlike him, but it’s seeping through his normally frostbitten anger and his fingers keep curling into fists. Releasing. Curling into fists again. In between his mental list of actions that will be taken in the next few days - activated edicts, an inevitable speech, heightened security - all he’s thinking about is pummeling one, or all, of these captives until someone spits out a name along with their teeth.

He almost doesn’t care if he even gets a name, which is _thoroughly_ unlike him. Punishment for punishment’s sake is much more Kryn’s style.

This thought gives him pause, and he seeks her out. She’s standing near Callidus, datapad in hand. Her back is ramrod straight, her only movement her hand as she flicks through whatever she’s reading, and the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. Her fury still flickers below the surface, and he can tell it wouldn’t take much to expand it into a full-blown conflagration, but it’s tempered with icy calculation: how far she can push someone before it’s too far and she gets nothing. Which methods work best in tandem. The most effective techniques for getting someone to talk. 

He makes a note to examine this further when they finally have a moment to breathe, but he’s drawn out of his thoughts as a small group approaches the dais. One Sith, the self-appointed leader of their little delegation, is gripping the bicep of a small Twi’lek woman as he looks up at Darth Marr.

Marr doesn't look at the man, his gaze remaining fixed on the four prisoners on the dais. “Speak.”

“We detained these suspicious people, my lord,” the Sith says, smug, with the air of one who is expecting a lavish reward. He beckons to his three similarly gloating compatriots. They all shove their detainees forward: two Twi’leks, a Mirialan, and a Devaronian.

He resists the urge to Force choke the priggish Sith, instead gesturing at the assembled group. “Tell me, Darth Mortis, do you notice anything interesting about these supposed suspects compared to the prisoners and corpses we have?”

Mortis looks over and nods almost instantly. “These are all aliens. Every one of our combatants were human.”

Marr stares at the man until his self-satisfied expression melts off his face and he drops his gaze. 

It doesn't take long. 

“Tell me, what was your evidence that these people were _suspicious_?” The last word is nearly hissed.

“I … that is, we thought ….” His pronouncement of we loses its punch as his friends all release their detainees and back away from him, cowed by Marr’s anger. “Perhaps we were, ah, mistaken, my lord.”

“The next time I see you present such a flagrant disrespect of Imperial law, I will kill you. Am I clear?”

A chorus of murmured _yes, my lord_ s.

“Get out of my sight.”

The four Sith scramble to obey, leaving the four former detainees standing in the plaza. Marr flicks a hand at them, not waiting to see if they do before turning to Mortis. “I will question these prisoners tonight. Darth Nox will assist.”

Mortis spares a glance at Bryasere and nods. “Give me half an hour to get them transported to the cells at the Citadel.”

“Done.” His gaze strays to Kryn again. “Darth Nox.”

She takes a small, wrapped bundle from Callidus, placing it into a pouch on her belt as she excuses herself, then strides over to Marr. “The medical transport should be -” She looks past him, where a vehicle has just stopped near the top of the southwest stairs. “Should be here now. What excellent timing!”

Darth Siscien signals the four attendants. “You’re going to need at least two stretchers. We have one unconscious and one with a grievously wounded leg.”

They nod and hustle back up the stairs. Siscien surveys the Seconds with a critical eye. “Bekro, you should be all right to walk to the transport. Senna -”

Senna stands, wobbles, tottering on the edge of consciousness. “I’ll be … be fine ….”

In a flash, Vowrawn is up, letting her lean on him. “I’ll help her. Come along, my dear.”

Mortis and Callidus move to help Domisan and Torudo, their Seconds, and soon the only two left are Malia, swiftly lifted onto a stretcher and taken to the transport, and Bryasere.

“Move her as little as possible.” Siscien considers. “It might be better if four of us lift her then carry the stretcher. Darth Marr, can you -”

“Absolutely.” 

Marr, Siscien, and the two remaining attendants ease Bryasere onto the stretcher and carry her up the stairs, Kryn behind them. After the transport doors are closed and it’s departed for the medcenter, Kryn gives Marr a questioning glance. “You wanted to speak with me?”

“I’m interrogating the captives tonight. I require your assistance in this matter.”

“Very well.” She falls into step beside him as they cross the broad, empty avenue toward his speeder, and doesn’t say anything else until they’re well on their way to the Citadel. “I’m sure one of them will talk.”

“They will give me the information I demand, and then they’ll be executed for their crimes. And then whoever masterminded this attack will suffer the same fate.”

Kryn nods. “You don’t think one of these could be the leader?”

“No. These were peons. Tools, nothing more. Attacking the Council with poisoned knives? This was a suicide mission.” He considers as he guides the speeder into the parking garage. “Or it was meant to be. I find it hard to believe the one giving the orders expected them to live.” He parks, gets out, and waits for Kryn. “We can only access the cells through the office of the Chancellor of the Judiciary. Come along.”

[3]  
The cells are the oldest, and lowest, section of the Citadel. They’re hewn from black stone, ancient Sith sigils worked into them, and a distinct feeling of unease permeates the air. Through some subtle manipulation unknown to Kryn, every sound in the cell block is amplified, creating a dissonant sense of disorientation.

Not many places bother Kryn, but the Citadel cells send a shiver down her back. 

Marr opens the first cell door and strides across to the nondescript man chained to the wall. “You will give me your name,” he rumbles, low and ominous, “and the name of your puppet master, or you will die.”

“Go fuck yourself, Sith.” The man spits on the floor. “I’m not telling you anythi-”

Marr’s fist moves faster than Kryn can register, crashing into the prisoner’s face in two abrupt, brutal strikes augmented by the Force. The first explodes the prisoner’s nose and kills him; the second collapses his skull. The crunching, squelchy noise echoes through the cellblock, and Kryn shudders, her hand shooting out to block Marr’s third punch. 

She winces as his fist connects with her shielded palm, creating a bloom of pain that radiates down her arm and through her fingers. “He’s dead,” she says, heedless of the blood and bits now on her hand. 

Marr looks down at her and takes a deep breath, then nods slowly, though he doesn't move out of her grasp. “He was expendable. There are three left.”

She studies him, head tilted up. _You understand a prisoner has to be alive to give you answers, yes?_

 _I cannot countenance a direct attack on my sphere._ His anger sings through his veins, echoes in hers. _I haven't protected the Empire for forty years to fail in my duty now._

 _We've crushed traitors in the past; we’ll crush these, as well._ She takes a step back, releasing his fist. _Follow my lead this time?_

_I will._

The next captive is two cells down, her wrists and ankles bound to the wall. It speaks to her intelligence that she looks worried when they enter the cell, though she tries to cover it up. “Whatever you want, you won't get it from me.”

Kryn is across the room in a blur, her fingers digging into the woman’s face. “I don't think today is the best day to test Darth Marr’s patience, do you?” Her grip tightens, and the woman winces. “The last person tried that. You'll notice that his blood is still dripping off Marr’s gauntlet.”

The woman risks a glance at Marr, blanching when she sees Kryn is telling the truth. 

“Tell me your name, traitor. Now.” Kryn’s tone brooks no argument.

“No.”

Kryn reaches down, her free hand closing around the woman’s middle finger. She begins to twist. “You sure?” 

“Yes.”

_Marr, come assist._

He strides silently across the cell, mimicking Kryn’s action on the woman’s other middle finger. Kryn twists and Marr does the same, stopping only when the woman hisses a breath through her teeth. “Tell me your name.” Kryn’s voice fairly hums with malice. “Last chance.”

The woman, grimacing, shakes her head. 

The snap of finger bones breaking echoes through the cell block, and she bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, a fat droplet rolling down her chin.

“I no longer care what your name is,” Kryn says conversationally, dropping her bloodied hand from the woman’s face to her heart. “Tell me who was in charge of your little band of miscreants.”

“We didn't know anyone’s names.” 

Lightning sparks around Kryn’s hand. “Is the leader in the cells now?” The woman is silent, sullen, and Kryn shakes her head. “Here I thought you were getting smart.” The smell of ozone becomes oppressive, and brilliant white arcs from Kryn’s hand into the woman’s chest. “Since you won't cooperate, I'll use you to encourage your remaining friends.”

The woman’s scream is piercing, amplified by the ancient enchantments on the dungeon, and continues until Marr twists his closed fist and snaps her neck. 

A sudden, heavy silence falls; Kryn and Marr exchange a look.

 _More information than we had before_. Kryn is only somewhat pleased. _She wasn't the leader._

_No. What is your plan for the next one?_

Kryn’s grin is almost feral. _You’ll see._ They make their way to the third cell.

The door slides open, revealing a man of medium build with mouse-brown hair. He shakes his head, shrinking away from Kryn as much as his manacles allow, when she strides over to him. 

Kryn stands toe to toe with him, amplifying the aura of unease that permeates the cell block. “Did you hear what happened to your first friend? Did you hear the bone and cartilage snap? Or did you only hear your friend next door, hear her shrill cry as lightning ripped through her body?” 

She leans in to whisper in his ear. “I know you heard both. Your terror is screaming through the Force right now. I wonder what would happen if ….” She places her index finger on his temple. “If I enhanced that terror.”

He tries to jerk away from her, his eyes wide, staring at something only he can see, veins bulging as he strains against his manacles. Sweat beads on his forehead and he goes pale, mouth opening in a silent scream.

Kryn removes her finger and impassively watches him tremble. “That was just a taste of what I can do to you. Tell me your name.”

“I-it’s … I mean, I-I-I ….” He can't seem to make his mouth cooperate. “They called me Manka.”

Kryn clucks her tongue. “Clearly a code name, but that is unimportant. Who was your leader?”

He hesitates.

Kryn lifts her finger.

“No, n-no, wait! We didn't know anyone’s name, like Trigger told you!” Words are spilling out of him as he recoils from Kryn. “We just called the leader Leader, and we never got to speak to her contact, the one who gave Leader the poison and told her who our targets were. All we know is that the contact called herself the Mistress of Retribution! Please, my lord, not again!”

“Is Leader in one of these cells?”

He only hesitates for a split second this time. “Y-yes, she's in the next one.”

Marr, across the room, snaps Manka's neck, and he slumps lifeless against the wall. _The one you subdued._

 _Yes. The one who attacked Bryasere._ She rests a hand on his forearm. _We need information. You can't just storm in there and kill her._

_I'm quite aware, Nox. But she will die. I will kill her myself._

Kryn opens a pouch on her belt and removes the small wrapped package Callidus had given her earlier. She unfolds the cloth around it, revealing a black blade with copper-colored veins, its colors unnatural and shifting. _Or we give her to Biotic Science as a test subject. We know it's poison. It appears to be some sort of alchemical creation. Callidus and I think the blades were soaked in it, letting them absorb it so the poison wouldn't rub off while the knife was in a sheath._ She extends it toward him.

He takes the knife, which is laughably small in his hand. _I will lead this interrogation._

Kryn nods. _I expected as much._

The last door whispers open. Leader is chained to the wall, a snarl on her face. “You won't get me to roll over like Manka did!”

_Flank her._

Kryn follows Marr’s lead, standing on Leader’s left side as he stands on her right. 

“You'll tell us about your Mistress of Retribution,” he growls. “And you'll do it now.”

“Or what?”

There's a blur of movement, and the knife is buried to the hilt in Leader’s side. 

Right where she'd stabbed Bryasere.

“Or I guess you die down here in writhing agony,” Kryn says, taking out her datapad to take notes as the black veins begin spidering outward from the wound. “Of course, you could talk. Tell us where you got the knives, what the poison is, who this ‘Mistress of Retribution’ is, why you attacked the Seconds. And then maybe we’ll get you to the medcenter so we can prepare an antidote.”

“We didn't know any of that!” Leader’s teeth are gritted, her breaths labored as the pain spreads. “We all received a message with when and where to meet. Got another one instructing us to kill your little lapdogs -”

Marr backhands her. “Cease the extra commentary.”

Blood wells on Leader’s split lip. “Instructing us to kill your Seconds. A crate with the knives was delivered to me. We don't know what's on them. The one communication we had with the Mistress, she was shrouded. She just wanted to tell us we were taking the first steps toward making the Empire what it should be.”

Kryn can't help the laugh that bursts out of her. “You fools. You thought she was on _your_ side? Your benefactor is a Sith clearly unhappy with the progression of the Empire. You think there's a place for you in that?”

“Peons, just as I surmised.” Marr looks at Kryn, hands the knife back to her. “We have no further business down here. I will speak to the Empire, and this Mistress of Retribution, tonight. Come, Nox.”

“Lead the way,” Kryn says, wrapping the knife and once again stowing it in her belt, following Marr to the door.

“You said you'd take me to the medcenter!” Leader shouts.

Kryn looks back over her shoulder. “I said we'd get you there, and we will. We’ll inform Darth Mortis of your condition. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to have you transported to Darth Callidus for testing.”

They leave Leader hurling invectives into the silence.

[4]  
Sith Intelligence is teeming with people, though a hush falls over the front office as Kryn and Marr stride in. He only slows momentarily as he angles toward a small hallway. “Holonet Override Aurek, Darth Tenere.”

Lana nods, leaving the conversation she's in to follow Marr. She falls into step with Kryn. “What information did you get from the interrogations?”

“They were in service to someone calling themselves the Mistress of Retribution,” Kryn says. “Sounds like someone needs to lay off the holodramas.”

“Sith?”

“Likely.”

Marr enters a security code, and the three Councilors enter a small room containing a HoloNet transmitter and a large terminal. Kryn and Lana settle into the chairs at the terminal as Marr steps onto the platform, pulling a cloth out of a smallish compartment on one of his legplates and directing his attention to his gloves.

Lana keys in a sequence.

Across the Empire, Holonet devices activate, switching to a priority Imperial broadcast frequency. Marr faces the transmitter, still cleaning blood off his gauntlets when he begins speaking.

“Today, traitors once again sought to sow dissension in our ranks. Today, cowards attempted to murder servants of the Council. Their purpose? To strike terror into the heart of the Empire, to create discord among her people.” 

He discards the cloth, folding his arms across his chest as he regards the transmitter. “But the minions have failed, and the ringleaders will be brought before us to answer for their crimes. We have withstood the Jedi, we have withstood the Republic, we have withstood Vitiate, and will take no notice of craven dogs who believe we are as scared as they are. We will not succumb to fear, that basest, lowest instinct! We will not cower! We will not turn on each other when we stand at the precipice of another era of Imperial greatness!”

Kryn, watching this from her seat next to Lana, schools her expression into stoic observation; she gives no outward sign of the heat rippling through her, still amused that his authoritarian streak is such an aphrodisiac, especially to her.

“Security will be heightened according to Imperial Edict 327-Leth for the duration of the investigation. If you have information regarding these attacks, or information of future plots, bring it to the Imperial Security Bureau immediately. Be advised, any person who knowingly gives false information will be punished to the fullest extent available to the Council.

“Be alert. Be mindful. Every citizen is responsible for the defense of our Empire.”

[5]  
Acina reclines on a chaise, watching Marr’s speech as she sips a glass of wine. “Such bluster, Marr.” She turns to her former Second, perched on a chair nearby. “Isra.”

“My lord?”

A slow smile curves Acina’s mouth. “Activate Plan Besh.”


	37. Inquest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn and Marr stop by the medcenter to check on their Seconds. A long-hidden secret is discovered.

[1]  
Darth Callidus meets Kryn and Marr in the lobby of the medcenter. “We have the Seconds in a private wing. Vowrawn is still here; most of the other Councilors have come and gone already.” They make their way through the brightly lit building, stopping at a security-locked elevator. Callidus inputs a code, then steps back.

“Any changes?” Kryn asks.

Callidus shakes his head. “No. Their condition worsened in the short time between the attack and them arriving here. We’ve stabilized them, which buys us time, but they're all also bedridden until we have an antidote. Mortis brought in the woman you infected; she'll be our test subject once we have some idea what we're working with.”

“No luck in your preliminary searches, I take it?” Kryn extracts the wrapped knife from her pouch and extends it. “Do you need this back?”

“No, we have two others.” The elevator door opens and they step out into the hallway. “Tenere has one. You keep that one. Between the three of us we should be able to find something.” 

A woman stops near them and clears her throat. “Darth Callidus, if I could have a moment of your time?”

“Pardon me, Councilors.” He steps aside, taking a datapad from the woman. 

Mortis strides past them and punches the button for the elevator, then turns to Marr. “We’ve got the detainee under observation and guard. I know we were planning on having a meeting with Vowrawn in what, two days? Can you reschedule it an hour earlier so we can go over any information that comes to light between now and then?” He considers. “I don’t think they’re going to get much traction, not after the Revanites, but I would rather be over-prepared than under.”

Marr pulls out his datapad and makes a note on it. “I’ll meet you and Vowrawn at the Citadel at eight.” 

As Mortis disappears into the elevator, Kryn notices Vowrawn standing with a slender Pureblood woman outside the first room, his arm around her shoulders. 

“I'm so sorry, Laina.” He looks over as Kryn and Marr arrive. “Councilors.”

“Don't apologize. Find who did this,” Laina growls, looking up from her clasped hands, her amber eyes shining with tears. “I want to know whoever murdered my husband and poisoned my daughter has drawn their last breath!”

“Asrin’s murderer has already paid for his crime with his life, as has Senna’s assailant. All that remains is the ringleader, who will not remain hidden from my sight nor my blade.” Marr's voice is icy fury. 

Laina inclines her head. “That is, at least, a small consolation, my lord.”

“If you need assistance with anything, Laina,” Vowrawn says, “please don't hesitate to contact me. Do you need me to call a speeder to get you home?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be spending the night here with Senna.” Laina takes a step backward. “Please excuse me, my lords. I’m going to get a cup of caf before I settle in for the evening.”

Kryn slips into Senna’s room when Marr and Vowrawn start talking, and is joined a moment later by Callidus. Her Second is hooked up to an array of monitors and a medical droid is standing by her bedside. She takes out her datapad, making notes as she examines the spidering black veins trailing outward from Senna’s shoulder.

“They’re warmer than her skin,” Kryn says, gingerly touching one. “They feel like they’re _moving_.” 

Callidus nods. “But they’re no longer expanding. At least, not noticeably. We’re still not sure if excising them would cause irreparable harm, however. We don’t want to try anything until we know what we’re dealing with, barring a sudden downturn in someone’s condition.”

“Understandable. I’ve got some of my best researchers already searching my archives.” Kryn consults her calendar. “Is four days enough to bring anything we’ve found to the Council and see if anyone has any other suggestions?”

“Yes. I’ll let Tenere know and send out the meeting notice.” Callidus dashes off a message. “Is that interrupting previous business, Darth Marr?”

“Even if it was, we would reschedule. This is more important.” Marr pulls out his datapad as he receives the meeting notification. “I’d almost prefer to have it sooner, but I’ve no wish to truncate any research time you need.”

Kryn looks over as Laina enters the room, then makes a shooing motion toward the door. “All right, Councilors, let’s stop crowding Senna’s mother. Keep me informed, Callidus.”

Kryn and Marr find Bryasere four doors down, motionless in her bed, the only sound in the room the steady beep of the array of monitors on the wall. Her sheet is folded to her waist and a simple white cloth is wrapped around her breasts, revealing the black spidery veins that have crept across her torso.

“I hope it doesn’t come to needing to excise,” Kryn mutters. “There’s too much here to do that for her.” She’s crouched at Bryasere’s bedside and still making notes when Marr comes to stand by her side, silently observing. She finishes what she’s writing and straightens. “Same as Senna, not that I expected anything different. The wound site is the warmest area. Her injury is the worst; I’ll be surprised if she wakes up on her own before we find the antidote.”

“But we’re going to find one.” It’s not a question, but uncertainty lurks under his words.

“Tenere, Callidus, and I have a lot of resources between us. I’m also going to ask my sisters; I’m sure Zal’shana can check the Jedi Archives for me, and Ca’ii knows a lot of astonishingly shady people who might know something.” She takes his hand, just for a moment. “We’ll find one.”

He nods.

“I don’t think we have anything else to do tonight, do we? Did you want to go see our test subject?”

“No. I’m sure I’m already getting copies of security reports; let’s go home.”

[2]  
The door slides closed behind Kryn and she almost bumps into Marr, who’s stopped a scant step inside the house. She circles around, head tilted as she regards him. 

“Matthius?”

He doesn’t immediately answer, drawing a long, slow breath. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Come on.” She takes his hand, tugs him toward the stairs. “There’s nothing else we can do tonight.” He lets her lead him upstairs and across the bedroom, all the way to the foot of the large bed. She kicks off her heels before she climbs up on it. 

“You’re so damn tall,” she grouses as she slides his hood back. “I have to stand on something just to begin undressing you.” The mask is next, and she hops off the bed to go set it on his desk. Concern darkens her features when she returns, her touch tender as she cups her face. “Are you all right?”

“I should have noticed what was happening,” he murmurs, and he steps away from her, pacing as he begins divesting himself of the rest of his armor. “I didn’t see, or _sense_ , anything suspicious until it was too late.” He drops his chestpiece in the pile he’s creating, then yanks the armorweave tunic off over his head with a growl. “I was complacent, and for my negligence two Seconds have paid with their lives and six others are in the medcenter, with no guarantee they’ll survive.”

“ _None_ of us noticed,” she says, slipping into his personal space, her fingers quick on his belt. “This isn’t your fault. If their backer is a Sith, there are plenty of ways they could have disguised their intentions.” She drops the belt as he unfastens his legplates. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“My sole duty is to protect the Empire, Kryn.” He falls silent until he’s stripped down to his black armorweave leggings, fury twisting his features. “And I failed.”

Distress weaves through the rage, and Kryn knows with a certainty that he’s channeling everything into anger to ignore the thin spike of fear running black and jagged through his normally composed demeanor. He steps around her, striding into the ‘fresher, and she follows. He turns the water on with a sharp jerk, but by the time Kryn’s left her dress in a puddle on the white tiled floor, weariness is overtaking the anger, a gray wave of exhaustion. “I don’t know.” He examines his hands. “Perhaps it’s time I reconsider my fitness for this post.”

“Nonsense.” Kryn folds her arms and glares at him. “The Empire is still here. It has never been perfectly safe, and we knew people would be unhappy. We knew something like this might happen. What matters is your response to the attack.” Her expression softens. “You’re worried about Bryasere, which is understandable. But everyone knows the depth of your dedication to the Empire.”

“There is no room for a lack of conviction,” he mutters. “That’s how missions fail.”

“There are no missions tonight, Matthius,” she says gently. “It’s just you and me. You remember those weeks after Ziost? When you were there for me when I couldn’t sleep, when I couldn’t talk about it, when I couldn’t _not_ talk about it? I would do the same for you, if you’ll let me.”

He nods, and she closes the space between them, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his chest, waiting until his shoulders slump and he embraces her, all but clinging to her. “Kryn.”

“I’m here.”

She doesn’t know how long they stand there as the room warms and the mirror becomes opaque, but the tension slowly eases out of him, melting away as they stand in silence. 

“Come on,” he finally murmurs. “At this rate we’re going to have to take a cold shower.” He threads his fingers with hers, looking back when she hisses a pained breath through her teeth. “What is it?”

Kryn gingerly pulls her hand out of his and holds it up, showing him the mottled bruise on her palm. “You punch really hard, you know that? That’s _with_ me shielding my hand. Probably wouldn’t have a hand left if I hadn’t thought to do that first.”

“You shouldn’t have stopped me like that.” He puts their palms together. “See? This is like stopping a stampeding nerf with a monkey-lizard.” Lifting her hand, he presses a slow, gentle kiss to her palm. “And you wonder why I still think you never think anything through.”

She makes a face at him, though she doesn’t make a move to pull her hand back. “Yes, well ... it worked, didn’t it? Quit fretting over it and get in the shower.”

“I know that means you know I’m right.” He makes no effort to curtail the smugness in his voice.

This time she does pull her hand back, ineffectually shoving at him with the other. “Are you done? Cold water, remember? Get in there. And wipe that smirk off your face while you’re at it.”

[3]  
The holocom won’t stop chiming, and Kryn’s ready to throw it out the window. Normally Marr would have answered it as soon as it went off, but he was up later than usual preparing for his meeting and is asleep at his desk, head pillowed on his folded arms. She rolls over, fumbling at the holocom sleepily and cursing under her breath when she can’t find the activation button.

She finally hits it and sits up enough for the transmitter to see her, her hair a tangled disaster from the night before. “’Lo?” 

“Nox?” Vowrawn is struggling mightily to contain his laughter. “My dear, I must confess I’m surprised … well, _somewhat_ surprised, to see you. I thought I’d punched in Marr’s frequency.” 

Kryn stills, then inspects the end table more carefully. It takes all of her self-control to not groan out loud when she realizes she didn’t activate _her_ holocom. “Did you? Are you sure that’s the one you punched in?”

A smile twitches at the corner of Vowrawn’s mouth. “At any rate, is he around? I had a few questions for him. We had a meeting scheduled this morning, but it appears he has yet to arrive at the Citadel.” This time he chuckles out loud. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” she says blithely. “One moment, please.” She slinks out of bed, taking great care to stay out of the transmitter’s arc, and hustles across the room to Marr, nudging him. “Vowrawn wants to talk to you.”

He sits up with a start, knocking over a stack of datapads and accidentally activating his map. “What? I … Kryn.” He yawns widely and scrubs his palms over his face. “Did I fall asleep at my desk? What time is it?”

She checks his chrono. “Ten thirty.”

“Ten thirty!” He bolts out of his chair. “I had a meeting this morning.”

She nods. “With Vowrawn.”

“Right.” He stands, yawning again. “I need to get dressed and call him.”

“He’s on your holocom right now.”

He glances from her to the holocom and groans as he rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m never going to hear the end of this. Tell him I’ll call him back momentarily, please.”

Kryn slides back under the blanket and props herself up on her elbow. “He said he’ll return your call shortly, Vowrawn,” she says, as calmly as though she were filling in for Bryasere. 

“No need. If you could just let him know I’ll speak with him when he arrives, that would be fine.” This time Vowrawn looks away for a moment, and Kryn could swear she sees his shoulders shake. “Thank you very much, my dear.”

His hologram winks out and Kryn gives Marr an apologetic look. “I thought it was mine.”

“He’s going to be absolutely intolerable for weeks. Don’t be surprised if he shows up in your office after our meeting.” He sighs. "I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later."

Kryn chuckles as she rolls out of bed. “Get dressed; I’ll go make the caf so you can have yours before you leave.”

[4]  
Marr hasn’t been in his office for ten minutes when his door whispers open. Vowrawn strides across the large room; Marr waits until he’s seated in the chair across from his desk before speaking. “Vowrawn.”

“Marr.”

The two men regard each other for a long moment before Vowrawn’s cheek twitches. “So. How is Darth Nox?”

Marr inhales slowly, exhales just as slowly, and says nothing.

The Pureblood is having a hard time keeping a straight face. “My friend, you understand you’ve lived the galaxy’s most dull life, yes? In an order occasionally known for excess, you have been frightfully reserved. No affairs. No dalliances. No drama or intrigue. You don’t even fall to excess on the battlefield. Nothing but work, work, work. Some people are convinced you’re actually a droid, you know.”

Marr continues to regard him silently, arms folded.

“Then today I call to see why Darth Marr, the Empire’s most punctual Councilor, is late for a meeting. And what do I see when his holocom activates? Not the stern, emotionless mask I’m expecting, oh no. I see a beautiful woman with disheveled crimson hair and a sleep-softened voice, the last woman I’d ever expect to answer your holocom, who even in that vulnerable state was able to play the whole thing off like it was perfectly normal.” He smiles. “She’s quite quick on her feet, not that I wasn’t already aware of that. I was impressed.”

When Marr doesn’t move, Vowrawn raises an eyebrow. “Now, I seem to remember a conversation you and I had, shortly after Nox was placed on the Council, where you said that if you never had to speak to her again your life would be better for it.” His expression grows crafty as a thought occurs to him. “Of course, I suppose _conversing_ isn’t what you kids are doing, is it?”

“Honestly, Vowrawn,” Marr snaps, sounding just a little shocked. “I would have thought such tawdry gossip beneath you.”

Vowrawn bursts into laughter. “I knew that would get a reaction, even though I thought we were discussing what - or who - was beneath _you_.”

Marr knows Vowrawn will only get worse if he offers any sort of rebuttal to that particular comment. He picks up a datapad and pretends to peruse it. “Is this going to take long?”

“The meeting’s been rescheduled for a half hour from now, so I have that long to wring answers out of you.” Vowrawn is positively gleeful, all but rubbing his hands together. “I simply must know everything.”

“Everything is not an option, Vowrawn, so choose your questions wisely,” Marr says with no small amount of resignation. “I’ll give you three.”

“Three! After all the years we've been friends? Five, at least.”

Marr already knows he's going to regret this. “As I’m sure you won’t let this go until you get what you want, I will acquiesce. You understand this is to be kept in the strictest confidentiality, for reasons that should be quite clear?”

“Of course.” Vowrawn considers. “Clearly, the first thing I must know is, when did all this start?”

“Rishi.”

“Rishi!” Vowrawn’s red eyes widen in shock. “That was over a year ago, and no one has found out? You have been sneaky,” he says, impressed. “All right, second question. Why? Marr, she drove you up the wall. Your entire office tiptoed around you for a good month after you gave her her seat, you were so irascible. How in blazes did you get to the point where she’s spending the night?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question for months, and I have yet to discover a satisfactory answer,” Marr grouses.

Vowrawn eyes Marr, a wide smile spreading across his face. “You love her, don’t you?” He laughs outright when Marr doesn’t answer. “I’m sorry I wasted my third question on something so obvious, truth be told. You are aware she could become a liability? No secret stays hidden forever.”

“Who were my parents, Vowrawn?”

Vowrawn shrugs. “Point taken. But that’s information that’s over forty years past. You and Nox are together now, and I wouldn’t put it past this Mistress of Retribution to try to hurt her to get to you, should she find out about you.”

“She could do the same with any other Councilor,” Marr says, shrugging. 

“Marr, duplicitousness doesn’t suit you. You and I both know that the way you’d feel if her flunkies captured me, and the way you’d feel if they captured Nox would be two very different things.” Vowrawn smirks. “Unless there’s something you need to tell me.”

“Hardly, Vowrawn. I see your point, but if you’re thinking I’m going to charge off to rescue Nox, I feel compelled to assure you that is not the case. I’d likely never hear the end of it if I did.” Marr sits back in his chair and folds his arms. “Perhaps this has eluded your observation, but Nox is ferociously independent, and equally stubborn.”

“A perfect match for you, I see.”

Marr doesn’t acknowledge this. “That’s four questions, Vowrawn. Consider your last carefully.”

“That fourth was business.” Vowrawn leans forward, looking obstinate. “It shouldn’t count.”

“It counts.”

“Oh, very well.” Vowrawn falls silent, thinking. “All right. I’ve got it. Does she need a stepladder to kiss you?” When the only sound in the office is Marr’s fingers drumming on the arm of his chair, Vowrawn turns his palms up. “I’m only asking because you're what, three meters taller than her?”

“You don’t honestly expect an answer, do you?”

“So that’s a yes?” 

“You should ask Nox,” Marr says, far too conversationally. “Be sure you emphasize how short she is.”

“Did you just make a joke?” Vowrawn’s eyes widen in surprise. “Maybe she’s a good influence on you; I’ve never heard you do that before.”

Marr shakes his head. “No, I genuinely want to hear what happens when you go tell Nox she’s short.” An idea occurs to him. “In fact, I’d rather see it for myself. Shall we?”

Vowrawn laughs out loud. “I don’t think so, my friend. You sound almost cheerful about the prospect, which is more than enough to give me pause. Jests aside, I assume you’re keeping this under wraps for a reason, and I’ll do the same.” He checks his chrono and stands. “I do want it noted that I knew about this before you announced the alliance to the Council.”

“It is so noted.” Marr plucks a datapad off his desk before he gets out of his chair. “You’re not going to sit and smirk your way through this meeting, are you?”

“I have more bearing than _that_.” Vowrawn, offended, presses a hand to his chest. “You wound me with your lack of faith, Marr.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Vowrawn. Now, if you're quite finished with your interrogation, I believe we have a meeting to attend.”


	38. Obsidanus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for the antidote continues, but Acina has greater plans already in motion.

[1]  
Kryn drops the knife, secured in a small case, into her travel bag and zips it shut, then shoulders the bag. “We’ll see what my researchers can tell me about it. I can't believe that between our three spheres we couldn't find _anything_.” She makes her way out of the bedroom, pausing near the couch. “I'm going to keep working on that holocron from Tangrene on my way there, so I probably won't call until our meeting next Strenday. If my people find anything, I'll have them report to you.”

Marr nods. “One second.” He disappears around the corner into the kitchen, returning with something in his hand. He holds out the three small containers. “Make sure you remember to eat, _qilitzarai_.”

Her features twist in a scowl. “Oh, for - Matthius, you don't need to pack me a lunch. I'm a grown woman and a lord of the Sith. You know, in case you didn't know.”

“I do know, Kryn.” He turns her and puts the containers in her bag, then bends and kisses her forehead. “I also know you tend to get wrapped up in your work, and I know how much you hate rations. Now you have no excuse, because it’s all things you can eat while you listen and take notes.”

She tries to hold her scowl and fails, one corner of her mouth turning up in a half-smile. “You worry too much, but thank you.” She tugs on his tunic and waits until he draws closer, then kisses him one more time. “I’ll talk to you in a week.”

[2]  
Kryn isn’t given to paranoia, but she’s been on edge since she entered the spaceport, turning to look behind her three times already. Every time, there’s no one there but the crowd that was behind her before. Nothing out of place, nothing to explain why she’s gritting her teeth and jumping at shadows. The fourth time she catches herself doing it, she shakes her head and makes a face. “Get ahold of yourself,” she mutters under her breath as she punches in the security code to the door of her hangar. “You’re just nervous about how long this search is taking. Get a grip.”

Up in the _Adamant_ , she drops her bag onto the small couch and continues up the stairs into the cockpit. Her pre-flight check is still running when she hears a noise somewhere in the vicinity of the cargo hold, something sounding like a door has come unlatched. “Honestly, didn’t Andronikos check these things the last time he used the damn ship?” Muttering to herself, she stomps back into the cargo hold and slams the open wall locker door.

She hardly has time to register the pain in the back of her head before everything goes black.

[3]  
The Council had convened shortly after lunch for their monthly meeting, Aruk and Rictus attending via hologram, as usual. Marr consults his chrono for the third time in ten minutes, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his Council seat. The meeting had taken two hours, and they still haven’t heard from Kryn. “All our other business is concluded. Has anyone heard from Darth Nox?” When all he gets are head shakes and shrugs, he grumbles under his breath, pulling out his holocom and punching in a frequency. 

“My lord!” Lord Edrin, Kryn’s lead researcher on Yavin Four, can’t manage to conceal his surprise as he bows, the instruments in the breast pocket of his lab coat shifting. “How may we assist today?”

“Edrin, I wish to speak with Darth Nox. She was supposed to call today with the results of your research.”

“Darth Nox isn’t here, my lord.” Edrin pauses and adjusts his glasses. “She was coming out to the research base?”

Worry nags at the back of Marr’s mind. “She was going to contact you as soon as she departed the spaceport. I’m sure you’ve received the notices of what’s going on here in the capital.”

Edrin nods, the light gleaming on his slicked-down hair. “We have, my lord. But Darth Nox never got in touch with us. Perhaps she made a secondary stop. The Reclamation Service is still working down in the jungle; she may have visited a dig site first.”

“No. She is aware of the urgency of our mission.” Marr considers. “When she shows up, inform her she is to contact me at once.”

The stocky man is clearly ill at ease with the idea of demanding Darth Nox do anything. “I will deliver your message, Darth Marr.” 

“Very well.” Marr disconnects, punches in another frequency, repeating this three more times and resisting the urge to throw his holocom when Kryn doesn’t answer. He takes a deep breath and stretches through the Force, his unease growing when he can’t sense her, even as he reminds himself he’s not sure how far apart they can be before they can’t sense each other anymore; with everything going on, they simply haven't had the time to to do any rigorous testing of their developing bond.

After he disconnects the third time the chamber holocom chimes. Marr touches a button, and a blue figure flickers to life in the center of the room, a slender woman with a dignified air about her, her dark hair swept up and pinned at the back of her head. One immaculately groomed eyebrow arches toward her hairline as she holds up Kryn’s holocom. 

“Why, Darth Marr! Is that _you_ that’s been trying to contact your wayward Councilor?”

“Acina.” Her name is little more than a growl.

“I told you I wouldn’t stand by and watch you run the Empire into the ground. You think I didn’t see your cute little speech, where you lauded a _traitor_? She is everything wrong with your vaunted ‘new direction’.” She folds her arms, all traces of good humor gone from her face. “She’s a symbol of all the ways the Empire has lowered her standards. We had a leader who believed in the rule of the strong and the decimation of the weak! Who understood the natural order of things!”

Marr doesn’t miss the dark looks passed between more than a few Councilors at that last statement and knows Acina won’t find allies on the Council. “Darth Nox. Now.”

The holocom rotates, and Kryn appears. Unconscious, slumped on a chair, hands and feet bound. Acina turns the transmitter back. “Have a little faith in me. Killing her doesn’t get me what I want, now does it?”

“And what is that, Acina?” He folds his arms into a impassive stance that belies his inner agitation. 

“I want Nox removed and the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge put under my purview. I want her disgraced in front of the Empire, her crimes listed for all to hear. And then I want her to rot in the cells, sitting in chains where a slave belongs, while the rest of us actually govern the way the Empire is supposed to be governed.”

He steels his nerve, hoping he’s not signing Kryn’s death warrant. “Why not just kill her? You clearly have the upper hand.”

Acina gives him a withering look. “Honestly, I shouldn’t have to explain these things to you. Because I know the failsafes that are in place for her vaults. Because it’s not enough to see her die. Because I’m not the only one with a grudge against her, and that person doesn’t want her dead.” She pauses, a cruel smile curving her lips. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Who -”

“You know I’m not answering that. Don’t even ask.” She’s smug as she issues her demands. “You will come alone, bearing the device that will transfer vault access to me. Once that’s done, we will escort you and the traitor back to the Citadel, where I will assume her seat and she will be punished.” 

Atroxa sweeps her lekku over her shoulder and sits forward, her stark black tattoos even more harsh in the lights of the Council chamber. She makes no effort to hide her snort of derision. “Sending Darth Marr to you when you’ve already kidnapped one member of the Council is absolutely something this governing body would do, Acina.”

Acina turns toward the sound of Atroxa’s voice. “He will come, or Nox will die. You’ll never find the antidote for your poor little Seconds. And you’ll sit and watch as the cadres of people who wish Vitiate restored to power overrun your futile attempt to run the Empire without our Emperor.”

“And they’re not going to do that anyway, Acina?” Mortis asks, highly skeptical.

“It can be done as easily as you choose, Mortis. Cooperate, and you don’t have to see the Empire’s streets awash with blood. You have a duty to your people. Do you plan to obey it?”

Marr holds up a hand. “Enough. I won’t have you slaughtering more Imperials. You will give me the necessary time to prepare my shuttle and make for the Arcanum.” His voice turns cunning. “That _is_ where you are, is it not?”

“It is, but do not think to launch an assault here. I am more than prepared for such an event.”

“Four days, Acina.” He punches the button, and the former Councilor’s hologram disappears. “Tenere, contact the Wrath. I don’t want the call traced.”

Lana nods, pulls a flat black holocom out of her pocket and dials a frequency, then tosses it to Marr.

The Wrath has cultivated a well-earned reputation since her acquisition of the title. Coldly impersonal, focused on her mission to the exclusion of all else, immensely talented at what she does. She folds her arms, everything about her radiating menace, from her severely short slicked-back hair to her no-nonsense expression. “Darth Marr.” 

“Wrath. Are you currently on Dromund Kaas?” When she nods, he continues. “The Council requires your services. Darth Nox has been kidnapped.”

Her jaw tightens as her scowl deepens. “I will be at the Citadel in ten minutes.” She disconnects before he can say anything else.

“Marr, I’m concerned about this group Acina’s talking about. It’s very possible she’s issuing empty threats, but I don’t want to be caught off guard.” Mortis stands. “If there’s nothing else for us as a whole, I would suggest adjourning once you tell us your plan.”

Marr nods. “Agreed. I’m going to send the Wrath in my shuttle. Acina may have her little warehouse full of toys, but the Wrath’s specialty is putting down Sith who have become a danger to the stability of the Empire. It is long past time we dealt with Acina, and I will not countenance threats from terrorists.” He looks from Tenere to Callidus. “Neither of you found anything regarding this poison?”

“That’s correct,” Callidus says. “But Acina said that if Nox dies we won’t find an antidote. Is it in Nox’s vaults, perhaps?”

“Or in the Arcanum itself,” adds Lana, “which would make sense considering that’s likely where it originated from.”

“Nomas and Callidus?” He waits until both the Vahla and the Pureblood nod. “I want a team ready to infiltrate and comb the Arcanum once we’ve dealt with Acina. Send them to the Thalassan system in a nondescript ship.” Marr is making notes as he issues orders. “Mortis and Tenere, rescan the security reports for any word of these supposed loyalists. Alert our security forces of this new development.” He stands. “This meeting is adjourned.”

He’s just stepped out of the lift when he sees Lysch cutting through the crowded hallway. Acolytes and lords alike leap out of her way, clearly hoping that her ire isn’t meant for them. Marr, unfazed, jerks his chin toward the hallway that leads to his offices, not waiting to see if she follows before he proceeds. 

He’s barely settled into his chair when Lysch slaps her hands down onto his desk, fire sparking in her red eyes. “Explain to me how you managed to _lose_ my sister.”

He returns the glare with interest, not that Lysch can see it, but he knows she can feel it. “Are you telling me I ought to escort her everywhere, Wrath? Because it sounds like that’s what you’re suggesting, and if you don’t know how poorly that would be received, I’d say you don’t know your sister as well as you think you do.” 

Lysch opens her mouth, then closes it. “Tell me your plan.”

He dashes off a message, waits until her notification chimes. “I have sent you the access code for my hangar and my shuttle. Acina cannot be allowed to be successful. She is not our true enemy, but she must be dealt with. Ply her for answers; if she will not talk, kill her.” He considers. “Do you have a voice modulator? She’ll contact you before you land at the Arcanum.”

“I have one. I will depart within the hour.”

“Good.” He stands and sweeps his datapad off the desk. “Keep me informed.”

She precedes him out of the office, disappearing out the main door as he stops at a desk near his office door. The human woman seated in the chair startles and looks up, immediately setting aside the datapad in her hand. “Yes, my lord?”

“Lord Jyris, I have business to attend and will be departing the Citadel. I am not to be disturbed. If it’s another Councilor, they know how to reach me.”

Jyris nods. “As you say, my lord.”

[4]  
Marr doesn’t remember the last time his meditation didn’t involve combat, but this early afternoon finds him up in the garden, kneeling in cool grass, rather than down in his training room with a saber in his hand. The sounds around him fade away as he immerses himself in the Force, searching for that spark that he would know anywhere, from any distance.

He doesn’t move as the sky darkens overhead, as Kaas City lights up just beyond the edge of the garden, as nocturnal insects send their songs winging through the air, as numbness seeps into his legs and he begins to wonder if he’s going to be able to reach her.

And then … something hazy, the barest flicker.

_Kryn. Kryn, can you hear me?_

[5]  
The Arcanum positively hums with energy. 

It houses technology and artifacts from across the centuries of the Empire’s existence, many of them considered too dangerous to be left where they could be scooped up and used by just anyone. Most are meticulously labeled and catalogued, though some sections are still woefully unfinished. Though it isn’t designed to house permanent personnel, Acina has set up her base of operations in the administrative offices outside the main warehouse, converting them to living space for her and her followers. 

Bound to a chair in a back storeroom, Kryn slumps unconscious, her hair undone from its pins, heedless of Acina prowling around her and the lanky woman with blonde hair and delicate features standing near the door.

“You.” Acina’s voice drips with loathing. “Bad enough we had to put up with Zhorrid, that spoiled brat without an ounce of leadership in her body, who never should have been given Jadus’ seat. But _you_. You spit in the face of everything that makes the Empire great. You couldn’t just stay in your place, could you? Do you know what it was like, watching Marr and Mortis put you in Thanaton’s seat while his body was still cooling on the floor of the Council chamber?” Her features twist in a snarl. “And then without anyone to rein in your mad ideas, now the once-proud Council is full of lesser beings. Don’t think I don’t know that was your doing.”

Little by little, Kryn returns to the realm of the waking, though she remains drooping in the chair, unwilling to give away that she’s more alert with each passing minute. 

_Kryn, can you hear me?_

Kryn never thought she would thank Crisan for anything, but it’s only years of discipline drummed into her by her former owner that keeps her from twitching when she hears Marr, faint yet unmistakable, in her head. _Matthius! Acina sent her minions to kidnap me._

 _Yes. She called the Council. She’s demanding we give her your seat and throw you into the cells._

Before Kryn can respond, Acina looks at the blonde woman. “Isri. Get the collar on her and start the watch. Karac will be here to relieve you in four hours.” The former Councilor turns on her heel and strides away, shutting the storeroom door behind her.

Kryn has been dampened until now, but the mention of the word _collar_ sends garish, discordant panic screaming across the distance between them. Marr’s chest tightens and he unconsciously clenches his hands into fists as her agitation washes over him. _Kryn. Kryn, listen to me, just hold still and -_

But Kryn is in no state to listen, her breathing shallow. _Not a collar, I can’t be collared again, not again, not the collar!_ Her thoughts descend into incoherence, a rapidfire babble, as Isri crosses the room, plucking the device off a shelf.

 _Kryn!_ His shout shocks her into silence. _You won’t be collared but you have to listen to me. Focus on my voice, all right?_

Her response is tremulous, but at least he gets one. _All right._

_Force bonds or normal?_

She takes a slow, deep breath. _Normal. They knocked me out with something; I don’t remember the trip here at all. Think Acina planned on using the collar and didn’t figure she needed Force bonds._

 _Good. You can break those. But not yet._ He considers. _Acina’s Second … Isri. She’s tall. She’ll have to bend to make sure the collar is placed correctly._

Hysteria is clawing at the edges of her already tenuous calm as Isri advances on her with the collar in her hands. _She’s coming. She’s coming!_

_Kryn, she’s going to fit it on you but -_

His hands sting as her nails dig into her palms. _What?!_

_Focus. Focus on my voice, remember? Trust me. You trust me, yes?_

She swallows hard. _Yes._

 _When Isri bends to check the device, headbutt her as hard as you can. Augment it with the Force and aim for her nose. Break your bonds and kill her. Silently._ He can feel the jagged edges of her panic. _Are you following?_

_I … I think so._

He nods, pleased. _This next part is going to be the hardest, qilitzarai. You’ve gotten through worse, you’ll get through this, and I’m here._ The metal settles around Kryn’s neck, and their connection is overwhelmed by horror, sharp and sickly green. _Breathe, Kryn. Breathe. Wait for the perfect moment._

_I - I can’t - Matthius, I can’t!_

His next words are stern. _You are Darth Nox. You are no one’s slave. You can, and you will._

Isri bends to check the collar, just as he'd anticipated.

Nothing happens, and he knows if Kryn misses this opportunity then nothing is going to keep him from the Arcanum. He’s relieved when pain, faint but familiar, blossoms at the back of his skull as Kryn finally makes her move. 

There’s a stomach-turning crunch and Isri cries out, the sound muffled by her hands clapped over her now-bleeding nose. Kryn twists her wrists, yanking the cuffs apart, and slaps a splayed hand over Isri’s heart, channeling a burst of lightning into her. Isri slumps to the floor, dead, as Kryn removes the broken cuffs on her wrist and the cuffs on her ankles.

Pride colors his every word. _I knew you could do it, Kryn. Is she dead?_

 _Of course._ Her jubilant elation is tinged with more than a little ferocity and just a touch of mania. _How many days until someone gets here?_

_Three and a half more days. The Wrath is en route._

Kryn eyes the storeroom shelves, then pulls a handful of ration packs off the shelves and stuffs them into the large pocket on her pants. _I can last three days. I’m going into the Arcanum itself. We need that antidote, and I don’t think even Acina is stupid enough to keep it right here in the front of the station. They’ll have to waste all their manpower looking for me and won’t be prepared when Lysch arrives._

_Be careful, Kryn._

She smiles. _I think we’re beyond that point._ She takes a deep breath, eyeing her still-shaking hands. _Thank you. For your help. I don’t know that I could have done it without you._

_Of course you could have. I have yet to see a force in this galaxy that can conquer you. Now go, swift and silent. Speak with me again when you’re securely hidden._

[6]  
“Mistress!”

Acina comes at a run, spurred on by the shock in Karac’s voice and followed by another of her followers, a too-lean woman with prominent cheekbones and a shaved head. They find Isri’s corpse shackled to the chair, her face covered in blood, the slave collar around her neck.

Acina turns to Karac, anger burning in her hazel eyes. “Find Nox! Now!”

Karac, a short, broad-shouldered man with mousy brown hair, hesitates. “But Mistress, she could be anywhere in the Arcanum, and if Darth Marr is coming we need to -”

Acina gestures at Karac, her fingers curling, and he scrabbles at his throat. She watches impassively as his movements slow, then stop completely, and she drops the lifeless body onto the storeroom floor. “If you cannot do what I ask of you, I will find someone who can. Qala.”

The woman steps forward and bows. 

“Find Nox and return her to me. I want her alive, but only just.”

“Yes, Mistress.”


	39. Extrication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn continues to hide in the Arcanum as she waits for the Wrath to arrive, but the days do not pass uneventfully.

[1]  
Kryn recedes into a bare murmur at the back of Marr’s mind, and he slowly opens his eyes, shivering as the chilled night breeze blows across his rain-dampened skin. He goes to stand, realizing almost immediately that he’ll have to wait until he regains some feeling in his legs. After clumsily maneuvering into a position where he can stretch, he taps a frequency into the comlink on his wrist.

“What?” The single syllable is brusque, clipped; Marr idly wonders how well Kryn and Lysch get along.

“Nox has escaped into the Arcanum,” he replies without preamble. “Her plan is to avoid capture until you arrive.”

The Wrath’s voice is heavy with skepticism. “And how would you know that?”

“I know.”

“So I must track down Darth Nox in a warehouse full of toys and gadgets. I will simply follow the rising smoke and sounds of death, I imagine.” Despite her words, Lysch sounds just a bit softer … or Marr is imagining she does. “I will keep you informed as to the status of the mission.”

“Very good, Wrath. Carry on.” He disconnects, groaning as he climbs to his feet. Nothing more can be done tonight, he reasons, and he’d be better off eating dinner and catching up on what he missed this afternoon.

[2]  
Kryn is a scant sixteen, short and skinny and swiftly learning that Lord Crisan - her new owner, five years her senior - has quite the volatile temper, with no discernable avoidable triggers. As Crisan’s handmaiden, Kryn bears the brunt of most of her foul moods and has the scars to prove it, but every once in awhile she manages to escape Crisan’s ire, making herself scarce and hiding in places Crisan never thinks to look as she storms about the estate.

She learns how to wedge herself into impossibly small spaces, reaching through the Force to feel out who is around her, muting her own presence to remain unnoticed. Today she’s crouched behind a stack of crates, footsteps that are heart-stoppingly close echoing in her ears, silently willing them away from her.

The first voice is gruff, tinged with worry. “What if we can't find her?”

“Do you want to tell the Mistress we can't find one single person, on the run in a _space station_?” This voice is reedy and snappish. “That we can't find a single person who has nowhere to go?”

“No.”

“Me either. Keep looking. It's only been one day, she can't have gotten far.”

As the footsteps continue past her hiding place, the cold durasteel presses into Kryn's hands and she remembers that she's not sixteen, she’s thirty-one, and that incident yesterday with the collar affected her more than she wants to admit if she's remembering that first year with Crisan.

She waits until the two followers are far enough away that she can't hear them at all, then begins to slink through the stacks of crates, bound for the back of the Arcanum and searching for anything that might give her an edge. She cringes each time boxes shift, sure the noise will bring a cadre of attackers down on her. 

By the time she tucks herself into a small nook for the night, she’s wound too tightly, jumping at every sound she hears or thinks she hears, grudgingly drifting into an uneasy sleep full of unwanted memories.

[3]  
Lysch, aboard the _Fuliginous_ , is a day out from the Arcanum and Acina has yet to contact her.

Whether that's a stroke of good luck or a sign of impending doom is yet to be seen. The trip has been astonishingly quiet apart from Marr’s call two days ago, and the Wrath has immersed herself in her combat routines, taking advantage of the comparatively close quarters to adjust her technique accordingly. She isn't concerned about Acina’s little group of rabble, especially if they're anything like the useless bunch sent for the New Year attack, but one doesn't rise to the Council without being at least moderately competent and Lysch refuses to be underprepared for the coming fight.

The holocom beeps. 

Lysch dons the voice modulator, tests it, and taps a button on the console, activating the comm channel but not the holotransmitter. Time to see if the modulator does its job. “Acina.”

“Is there a particular reason you haven't activated your holotransmitter, Marr?”

Lysch curls her fingers around one of her lightsaber hilts, glaring at the woman’s patronizing tone. “Malfunction with the device,” she snaps in a near-perfect simulacrum of Marr’s voice. “It was to be repaired today, but you might remember you demanded I travel to the Arcanum.”

A pause, just enough of one that Lysch begins to consider the possibility of a less-than-welcoming welcome party as soon as she arrives, and then Acina replies. “Yes, well, as you might imagine I wish to put this messy business behind us so we can get back to ruling the Empire.”

 _Messy business_ , as though this was a tiff at a party. Scourge had killed Sith for far less than the kidnapping of a Councilor. “I expect to be docking in approximately a day. Am I correct to assume you haven't decided to renege on our agreement and Darth Nox is still alive and in your custody?”

“Of course you're correct!” Acina’s reply is too bright, too immediate, and Lysch knows with a certainty that the woman has not yet located her quarry. “She's sitting in a room under lock and key and guard.”

“Good. I would hate for this deal to go awry. I don't take kindly to having my time wasted.”

“Nor do I. We will be prepared for your arrival, Darth Marr.” 

Acina disconnects, and Lysch breathes a sigh of relief as she removes the modulator. Acina didn't _seem_ to notice anything out of place, but Lysch prepares for attackers, just in case Acina was exceptionally good at hiding her reaction to the faux voice.

[4]  
Kryn is twenty now, long used to the vagaries of Crisan’s temper, and knows the woman has deluded herself into believing they share some sort of twisted friendship, that Kryn serves her and submits to Crisan’s testing and experiments because she wants to and not because Crisan would kill her if she doesn't. 

Sometimes when Crisan is at work, Kryn will pause while she cleans her mistress’ quarters and inspect her jewelry box, admiring the sparkling necklaces and rings. Sometimes she tries them on, fancying herself a free woman, a Sith of some renown, part of the judiciary or the Ministry of Logistics. She never imagines herself in Biotic Science; Crisan’s experiments have ruined that sphere for her, no matter how interesting alchemy might be. 

She peers at the script on the label of the box in front of her, wondering why Crisan has started labeling her jewelry box, then shakes her head, brows drawing together.

Her memories are getting jumbled again. 

She hasn’t seen a pursuer since she woke up this morning. Perhaps they avoid this section of the Arcanum, the deepest part, full of shadows and whispers and thrumming energy. Kryn hasn't seen boxes labeled in Aurebesh in at least a half day. Thus far she's resisted opening any of them, but unless she's lost days while swimming in and out of her past, Lysch should be arriving in two days and Kryn is going to need to work her way back to the front of the station.

The only sound is her shallow breathing as she weighs her options.

She opens the box nearest her.

The first thing that catches her eye is a bright red stone set into a gold and gemmed ring, twinkling near the top of the container, and she picks it up and tries it on.

_Now you can take all this jewelry and not have to give it back. Who's going to stop you? Do what you want._

The words slither through her mind, cold and oily; she hurriedly removes the ring and drops it back into the box, and she's going to close it up when another draws her attention: a large, deep purple stone being bitten by golden, gem-studded snakes. She can't quite keep back her exclamation of appreciation and picks it up, sliding it onto her left index finger and admiring it in the low light.

As she watches it twinkle, her gaze is drawn to the boxes around her. Surely these must contain rare and useful artifacts. She should search through them and take any that will be of use. She is a Sith, after all, and she deserves all the power she can wield and more.

Perhaps there is no limit to her power. How will she know if she lets these things languish? 

Her left hand stretches out of its own accord and she follows its pull, winding through narrow passageways, past promises just on the edge of hearing, until it drops onto a small, nondescript box marked with a tiny label. Inside, she finds a necklace with a deep blue polished stone, set in a pendant worked into the image of a snake haired woman glaring down at the stone. 

Power _radiates_ from this. She simply must have it.

In one smooth, swift movement, she sweeps the necklace out of its box and loops the chain over her head. The stone, warm to the touch, settles between her breasts, and almost immediately she hears something, a cacophony of voices. She listens to them, feels them wash over her mind, picks out the loudest threads.

_free I must be free let me out letmeout_

_trapped by my enemy I will have revenge_

_a stranger approaches who is this where is Likandat_

A slow smile curves Kryn’s mouth at the prospect of bending Force ghosts to her will once again. _I am Darth Nox, and you now serve me_.

[5]  
Marr can’t sleep the night before the Wrath is scheduled to arrive at the Arcanum; he finds himself in his training room in the wee hours of the morning, but he’s drawn from his lightsaber velocities by an undeniable, unidentifiable sense of strangeness. There is something _unfamiliar_ in his mind, and the sensation is so disquieting that he deactivates his saber, hooks it onto his belt, and paces the training room, trying to identify it. His steps slow and he reaches outward, stretching toward Kryn, and it's easier this time, easier now that he’s found her once, easier now that heightened emotion has ricocheted between them and strengthened their connection. _Kryn?_

It takes a moment, and she sounds as though she's speaking in a room full of people. _Matthius_.

_Kryn, what have you been doing?_

There is a significantly longer pause this time. _I am outfitting myself with the tools needed to defeat my enemies._ Her inflections are slightly off, almost archaic, as though she's speaking someone else’s words.

_I see. And what have you outfitted yourself with?_

Another pause, and a murmur, as though she's talking to herself but only inside her mind. _Do you know of Darth Likandat, she who conquered the family Rathas and ascended to the head of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire?_

Marr has never seen the name “Darth Likandat” in any writings he's ever read. He makes his way out of the training room. _Kryn, did you pick up something in the Arcanum?_

She only tangentially answers his question, her attention diverted as she opens three boxes in rapid succession, pulling one ring out of each then closing them, the remaining contents judged not sufficiently worthy of her. _No one can stop me this time, can't throw me into a cell or chain me to the wall if I put jewelry on. I can have all of it, all for myself. All mine._

 _Kryn, I don't know if it’s the best idea to wear unidentified artifacts._ He can't stop her, but at least maybe he can find out exactly what it is she's picking up. _What was the container labeled?_

This time she’s surprisingly lucid, less overwhelmed by whatever it she’s carrying on her person. _Couldn't read it, the label is in Kittât and I didn’t have many language classes at the Academy._

He considers this as he settles into his desk chair, searching for a Darth Likandat in Imperial records. _If they’re only labeled in Kittât, they're extraordinarily old. Be cautious._

 _I was drawn to this necklace._ Kryn sounds quite proud of herself. The lucidity is gone and the strange quality to her voice has returned. _It called to me. Knew me. Wanted me. Powerful Sith are bound within it, and now they will obey me as all the others have. Their power will augment my own._

One result appears on Marr’s screen, informing him that Darth Likandat died in 238. _Kryn, if that necklace is Likandat’s, those Sith have been bound for at least eleven hundred years. Force only knows what that long an imprisonment will do to a spirit. Do not let them overwhelm you._

 _I will do as I please, and I will not be held back!_ Her indignation burns as clearly as if she were standing next to him. _Not by you, not by anyone! I will have all the power I deserve, all the power I'm owed!_

His eyes widen; this time he can hear an echo of other voices in hers. _Kryn, I would never -_

She pulls away from him, consciously and deliberately. He returns to the training room and reignites his saber, clearing his mind and resuming his training as he monitors their connection. When he doesn't attempt to speak to her again, Kryn’s face settles into one of cruel pleasure, her usually cheery smirk now thin-lipped and cold. She nods once, sharply, then opens a wide, flat container, revealing the contents.

The dim light gleams on the gold-dusted tips of the feathers adorning the magnificent headdress. Whether from some long-extinct bird or one never seen in reality, Kryn doesn't know, but the feathers explode back from a twisted gold band anchored to a featureless mask, meant to give the wearer the visage of a fearsome, faceless apparition.

Before she can stop herself, her left hand has curled around the bottom edge of the mask and lifted it, fitting it to her face. 

_Power_. So much power, running charged and wild through her body, so much so that she can see the Force becoming manifest in the corners of her vision. Twisting shadows, hulking creatures waiting for her command, skulking humanoids with sharp and arching claws. Nothing can stop her now: not the middling schemer on this station, not the Council, not the mad emperor himself. 

She will have what she has earned with her blood and suffering.

She’s taken three steps back the way she came when she feels nudged toward a shelf of books, all impeccably bound and very old. Her face lights up; she can’t possibly leave without at least _one_ of them. The first one she pulls off the shelf is bound in a maroon leather, and she gently turns the pages. Kittât, of course, just like the labels on the crates in this section. Returning that book to its place on the shelf, she drifts her fingertips along the spines, head tilted as she lets the Force guide her.

The second one she pulls is large, bound in a hard white leather, its corners reinforced with intricate metal decorations and a greenish-gold gem set into the center of its cover. Opening it reveals sketches, notes in margins, pages and pages of unfamiliar writing. She’s still turning pages when Acina’s voice, harsh and panicky, rings out over the Arcanum’s intercom system.

“The Wrath is aboard the station! To me!” 

Kryn looks up as hurried footfalls echo around her, a wicked smile curving her mouth. “Well, well. I wouldn’t want to miss the fun.” She tucks the tome under her arm and strides toward the front of the warehouse.

[6]  
The majority of Acina’s followers lay dead and cooling in the hallways between the hangar and the door into the Arcanum proper, felled by Lysch’s whirling scarlet blades. She’s spared no one, of course; Acina herself is proof of what happens when you do not pursue traitors until they surrender or die.

The door at the end of this last hall opens, then closes behind a pair of black-robed Sith. Lysch gestures, Force-lifting the corpse in front of her and flinging it at them before leaping after it. They’re unable to dodge in time and are bowled off their feet, still on the ground when Lysch lands and beheads them both, a sneer curling her lip.

She opens the door and steps through it into a wide open staging area. Acina, flanked by her remaining flunkies, stands on the far side, lightsaber in hand. Lysch’s eyes narrow as she regards the woman.

“Darth Acina! You have threatened the stability of the Empire through your repeated machinations after abandoning your Council seat, and today you will answer for your crimes. Your followers are dead, and you will not be leaving this station a free woman. You may face me of your own accord and prove your worth as a Sith, or continue to hide behind your servants and be exposed as a coward.”

Two Purebloods, a man and a woman, step out from the crowd and arrange themselves in front of Acina. “Our rightful Emperor no longer recognizes you as the Wrath,,” the woman says, though her words have an odd cadence, “and thus the Vitiatum do not recognize you as the Wrath. You have no authority here.”

Lysch ignores this, still staring at Acina. “You’re working with _Vitiate_? After what he did to Ziost? What did he promise you, Acina? And why do you think he would keep that promise?”

Acina doesn’t answer.

“Very well.” Lysch tightens her grip on her sabers, turning her attention to the two Purebloods. “And two more of the Hand. I can feel it. It’s unsurprising that _you’re_ not intelligent enough to think this through.” She looks at the rest of the group surrounding Acina. “Your mistress supports the monster that murdered every Imperial on Ziost, and by standing there with her, with them,” she jerks her chin toward the two in front of Acina, “you have placed death marks on your own heads. I am collecting them today.”

She takes one step, then freezes, her attention directed past the showdown in front of her. Kryn is coming. At least, she _thinks_ it’s Kryn. Kryn with an echo, with an undercurrent of peculiarity far beyond her usual eccentricity.

The two members of the Hand, taking her pause as reticence, leap as one. The four sabers clash with a _pop-hssssss_ , sparks flying. The two Servants press their attack in unison from both sides, Lysch’s lightsabers extended to parry this latest salvo, then immediately pivot into a full frontal assault on the Wrath. 

Kryn strides down the primary walkway, chin lifted and shoulders back, coming up behind the followers raptly watching the duel. “Pathetic worms!” She speaks with her own voice and the voices of the Sith in the pendant, giving her words an otherworldly quality. Everyone but the duelists turn to look at her. She extends her free hand in front of her, her fingers splayed wide. “How dare you presume to control me!” 

Almost immediately, Acina begins backing away, separating herself from her underlings. Kryn’s outstretched hand is wreathed in white fire; she pulls it to her chest, then flings it forward. Blinding energy explodes forth from her palm, bringing the duel to a standstill as the combatants shield their eyes.

Acina’s followers are incinerated, ash scattering across the floor as Acina dives out of the way. Lysch’s vision returns, and she finally sees Kryn, or most of her. One arm is wrapped around a large white-bound book. An immense feathered headdress adorns her head, its mask covering everything but her mouth. Her hands are glittering with rings. A silver chain disappears into her shirt. Blood is dripping from her nose and skin is peeling from her outstretched hand, though she doesn’t appear to notice. 

Before Lysch can speak, Kryn looks at the other Pureblood woman. “You will surrender your weapon and yourself. Now.”

The Servant sneers at this. “Surrender is for the weak!”

A hulking shadow, more than two meters tall, materializes next to Kryn, closing the space between it and the Pureblood woman with jerky, bizarre movements. It steps directly next to her, so close Lysch can barely see light between them, and draws a single too-thin digit down the side of the woman’s face. The Servant blanches, then immediately deactivates her lightsaber and extends it, heedless of the man’s outraged cry.

“No! What are you doing, Seven? Fight it!”

Lysch snatches the hilt and smashes it into Servant Seven’s temple as the shadow dissipates, not waiting to watch her crumple into a heap before she turns her attention to the other Servant. He puts up a futile fight, struggling until she chokes him into unconsciousness.

“She is escaping,” Kryn says, pointing toward Acina, who is running for the door.

Lysch reignites her lightsabers with a growl and leaps after Acina. Acina jerks her saber up, barely warding off Lysch’s unrelenting strikes, driven back step by step until her shoulderblades touch the wall. Lysch snarls, jerks a lightsaber downward, and severs Acina’s hand from her arm. Acina’s lightsaber clatters onto the durasteel, her scream echoing in the warehouse. She’s sliding toward the floor when Lysch snatches a handful of her robe and yanks her upward. “Where is Vitiate?”

“I don’t know,” Acina rasps, curling her wounded arm against her stomach, her face wan. “He hasn’t told me. I only hear him in my mind when he has an order.”

Lysch narrows her eyes, disbelieving. “Fine. Ask him now, then, since you could not be bothered to be curious before.”

Acina shakes her head, her hair falling out of its once immaculate styling. “It doesn’t go both ways. He can talk to me. I can’t talk to him.”

“Useless.” Lysch shoves the woman to the floor, pressing her boot to Acina’s throat. “Do not try anything.” She taps a frequency into the comlink on her wrist.

It chimes longer than Lysch is expecting. “Darth Marr.”

“Marr, I have Acina,” Lysch begins without preamble. “She was working for Vitiate. I have other information, but it can wait until my report to the Council. Is there anything else you wanted from her?”

A pause, and then a question, carefully neutral. “Darth Nox?”

“Alive.” Lysch looks over at Kryn, unsure how to describe her current state. “A few minor injuries that can be discussed after we have departed the Arcanum.”

Acina clears her throat, tries to shrug out from underneath Lysch. “Darth Marr, I can wait until the next time Vitiate contacts me and -” 

“I am uninterested in your bargains, Acina,” Marr all but hisses. “The antidote for the Seconds, now.”

When the only answer is silence, Lysch looks at Acina, increases the pressure on her chest until she scrabbles at Lysch’s boot. “It’s in my desk,” she wheezes, "in my chambers. I can show you -”

“Wrath, we require nothing more from this conniving snake. Dispose of her as you will. I will notify Nomas’ team that they may begin their mission. Speak with me again when you have departed.” Marr disconnects.

Lysch looks down at Acina. There is no pity in her eyes. “The Empire does not suffer traitors, Acina. I thought you’d have learned this after what happened with the Revanites.” She closes a hand into a fist, twists it sharply. Acina’s head slumps at an unnatural angle. “Darth Nox.”

Kryn, paging through the large book she’s had under her arm, looks up but does not speak.

Lysch tries to ignore how Kryn’s entire mien sends a shiver down her spine. “We must depart for the capital, and we need to see to your wounds.”

“I need no _seeing to_ ,” Kryn snaps in that unnatural echoing voice, apparently oblivious to her scorched hand and the blood coating the lower half of her face. “But yes, you will take me back to the capital immediately.”

[7]  
The Arcanum is behind them, the antidote to the poison safely secured in Lysch’s quarters and the two Servants slumped in the cargo hold’s two Force cages. Kryn is in the co-pilot seat of the _Merciless_ , lost in thought, occasionally nodding as though listening to a conversation only she can hear. Every time Lysch has broached the subject of getting her into the kolto tank in the medbay, Kryn has snarled her way out of the conversation, and Lysch has had enough, pacing her quarters as she speaks with Marr via holocom.

“She keeps going on about how I am trying to steal her possessions. She is drawn and pale. Her hands are burned. Her face is covered in blood. And she will not listen to reason.”

Concern creases Marr’s brow behind his mask. He’d been sure Kryn would contact him before she left the Arcanum or shortly after; that she didn’t, coupled with Lysch’s full rundown of her condition, has left him uneasy. He gestures, locking his office door. “Let me speak with her. I have time before my next meeting.”

“As you wish.” Lysch stalks through the ship and sets the holocom on the small table in front of Kryn, then storms back out, muttering under her breath. 

Marr can’t quite restrain the smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth when he sees Kryn. She’s alive; now they just have to get her home in one piece. He swiftly schools his face back into stoicness. “Darth Nox, you were injured in the skirmish with Darth Acina. You need to let the Wrath tend to your wounds.”

Her scowl doesn’t so much as flicker. “And who are you to me?” The timbre of her voice is low and nearly unrecognizable, the archaic accent even more pronounced.

He’s blindsided by the question, even after Lysch’s description of Kryn’s recent behavior. His throat constricts as his train of thought falters, a sharp, twisting pain tearing through his chest. He takes a deep breath, trying to focus past his wounded heart; it’s now _imperative_ they get her away from these artifacts. “I am yours, my lord.”

Her expression, astonishingly, grows even colder. “Do not lie to me. No servant of mine would be so brazen as to address me in the common tongue, and with their face hidden.”

“My apologies.” He removes his mask, sets it aside. “ _Tsisaridor, machir nu ka zain_.” 

He deliberately chooses the most formal form to voice his loyalty … to Kryn, at least, if not necessarily to this unknown being. _My lord, I belong to you._ The person that wears Kryn’s face but is not wholly her regards him silently, giving no sign of approval or disapproval, and he briefly wonders how much of this Kryn is watching and understanding. 

“I am pursuing your interests only,” he continues, inclining his head. “It is best you are at your peak before you reach the capital.”

“You confirm your fidelity and that of this woman?”

He doesn’t flinch in the face of her stare. “Unequivocally.”

Kryn’s mouth, devoid of any humor, presses into a thin line as she settles an internal debate. “If she proves false, your life will be the payment I exact for your mistake.”

“I would expect no less, and will await your return, _tsisaridor_.”

She sits forward and taps a button, disconnecting the call, as Lysch rounds the corner. “Ah, there you are. Has he managed to talk sense into you?”

Kryn’s chin lifts, and Lysch’s stomach drops when she sees no familiarity on her sister’s face. “He has spoken for your fealty, yes. But if he is attempting to lead me astray, if the two of you are conspiring against me, it will be the last thing you will ever do.”

As much as Kryn’s usual devil may care attitude grates on Lysch’s nerves, this paranoia is even worse. “I understand, Darth Nox. We can place all your things in a box I have in the medbay. This way.” Without waiting to see if Kryn follows, Lysch exits the cockpit.

Kryn joins her in the medbay, gently setting the tome into the container indicated by Lysch. Next is the headdress, laid carefully on the bed. All eight rings are slipped off and dropped into the box. Last is the necklace, with its polished blue pendant and trapped spirits. 

Lysch gives Kryn an expectant look, her expression sliding into disappointment as Kryn’s face doesn't return to its usual cheerfulness. 

“Be about your duties, woman!” Kryn snaps in the voice that isn’t hers. She beckons imperiously at the kolto tank, shedding shirt and boots and pants, though she is slowed down by her one severely injured hand and her refusal of Lysch’s offer of help. “Let us be done with this.”

Lysch takes a damp cloth and cleans the blood off Kryn’s face before fitting the breathing apparatus over Kryn’s mouth and nose. Kryn steps into the tank, still watching Lysch with marked suspicion, and Lysch activates the process, waiting until Kryn is floating peacefully and all her vital signs look good before she slumps, exhausted, into a chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Sith for those who are curious:  
> Words are accented on the first syllable. The "ts" gets the quick push against your teeth before you start the S. The "ai" dipthong sounds like "sign" (that ah-ee slide). The "ch" combination is that throaty sound you get with "Bach", so the sentence _Tsisaridor, machir nu ka zain_ is *roughly* like so, without getting into using the International Phoenetic Alphabet: TSIS-arih-dore MAHCH-ihr NOO KAH ZAIEN. 
> 
> This form of address, "tsisaridor," indicates that the speaker is referring to their master/senior in particular, and not just any Sith senior to them. The general form is "tsisari," used for anyone senior.


	40. Rest and Recuperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn returns home, bearing artifacts and a tome. The Seconds receive the antidote. Kryn gets an impromptu language class.

[1]  
“... she … kolto or … back to ….”

“I think she … but she is … co-pilot chair.”

Kryn, barely half-awake, picks out two voices, but this time it sounds like they’re _both_ outside her head, which is a definite improvement over the last three times she’s woken up. The ship falls silent but for heavy footfalls, and she clutches her blanket to her chest as she rolls onto her side, more than happy to go back to sleep.

The footsteps draw closer and finally stop next to her. She leans forward just enough to see past the edge of the chair, waking up a bit more when she realizes she recognizes those boots. She lolls her head back to look at Marr, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn. “Are we on Dromund Kaas, or am I dreaming again?”

He drops to a knee next to her as she raises the seat upright. “Again?”

Even exhausted, she manages to give him a withering look. “Don’t act like you’re astonished you crop up in my dreams now and then.”

He chuckles. “I guess the galaxy has a sense of fairness after all. How are you feeling?”

She yawns widely. Again. “I’ve been sleeping the whole way back and it hasn’t been enough.”

“I've heard possession can be quite tiring. How much -” Marr’s holocom chimes. “Hold on.” He taps the button. “Marr.”

Callidus appears, blue and flickering. A wide, pleased smile graces his elegant features. “Marr, we’ve finished the synthesis of the antidote from what the Wrath sent back. Tested it on our little guinea pig and it’s successful. We’re getting ready to inject the Seconds now.”

“Excellent. I’ll be there as soon as I finish the business I’m attending to now.” Marr disconnects.

Kryn sits up, face alight. “We found the antidote? We need to get to the medcenter!”

He gives her a curious look. “You don’t remember?”

“My memories from these last few days are very … sketchy.” She braces her hand on his shoulder and pushes herself out of the chair. “Medcenter.”

He stands as she makes for the doorway, catching her wrist. “Kryn, you do need to go to the medcenter, but to see a doctor. You should look far better than you do after spending three days in kolto. You were possessed. Look at your hand.”

Kryn looks down, notes the webbing of scar tissue across the fingers and palm. “It’s fine. It’s just scarring. It's already done.”

“You’re still exhausted. Go to the medcenter tomorrow or the next day, when you're feeling better.”

She folds her arms and stares up at him, her jaw tightening. “I am going to the medcenter now, with or without you.”

“Damn it, Kryn.” He glowers down at her. “Is _anything_ I say going to change your mind? You need sleep.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” she says airily. 

“That was closer than you might imagine!”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

Kryn snaps her mouth closed on her already-planned retort. “I … I appreciate your concern.” She rests a hand on his forearm and looks up at him. “I do. But this is important, isn’t it? I’d like to be there for Senna, and I know you want to be there when Bryasere wakes up. Tell me you would just go home and sleep if you were in my shoes.” She pauses for a moment, then looks down. “If I were wearing any.”

He’s silent for a long moment, not wanting to admit she's right, but there’s no denying that if their positions were reversed they’d be having the same argument; no amount of reasoned debate would keep him away. “We’ll stop at your house and drop off your things, and then we’ll go.”

Lysch leans in the doorway of the cockpit. “Her things are still on her ship; one of Nomas’ underlings said they’d be bringing back. Go to the medcenter. Kryn, your shoes are still in my cabin.”

Kryn nods as she yawns again. “I’ll be right back.”

After she leaves the cockpit, Lysch fixes Marr with a stare. “I have all those things she was wearing in a box, but I am not going to give it to you if she is going to be able to talk you into giving it back to her,” she says, settling her hands on her hips. 

“Wrath, I’m not sure what sort of pushover you think I am,” he snaps, his tone frigid. “I’m hardly inclined to hand over unlabeled, unexamined artifacts that nearly subsumed her entire person simply because she asks nicely.”

Lysch glares up at him as the seconds tick by, then finally sighs. “Very well.” She glances in the direction of her cabin. “She didn’t recognize me until yesterday afternoon. I will not lose my sister to a trinket. To battle against a foe, yes. To my blades if her actions demand it, yes. Not to a bauble created by some long-dead lord.”

Marr nods. “I understand. They will be secured until we get the list back from the Arcanum and we know what we’re dealing with, and then they’ll be turned over to Darth Nomas.”

Lysch pivots smartly, jerking her chin in the direction of her cargo hold. They pass through the doorway and she indicates the two prisoners. “I am heading straight to Yavin Four with these two. The Hand are working with Acina, which is no surprise given she was serving Vitiate.” A vicious smile curves her mouth. “Well, _were_ working with Acina.” She opens a cabinet and pulls out an oversize box. “Kryn’s new toys.”

Marr takes it, points at a large tome on another shelf. “Is that the book?”

“Oh. Yes. I am still unsure why she picked up this particular book. She can’t read anything in it.” Lysch hands it to him.

He sets it on top of the box and flips through it. “Incantations and the like. I’ll take a closer look at it when we return from the medcenter.” He exits the cargo hold, arms full, as Kryn steps out of Lysch’s cabin. “Are you ready?”

She eyes him. “Do you want me to carry something?”

“No.” He knows he’s said it too quickly when her expression sharpens. “I think I can handle a box and a book, Kryn.”

The suspicion doesn't leave her face. “Hmm. If you say.” She crosses to Lysch and throws her arms around the stern woman. “Thank you. You know, for the rescue. And the kolto. And for only lecturing me about my choices for a couple of hours.”

“You are getting off light. I hope you understand that.” Lysch, looking only a little uncomfortable, returns the hug. “Next time you get kidnapped, you are on your own.”

Kryn steps back, a hint of her usual smirk pulling at her mouth. “Next time, just send Pierce. He likes this sort of derring do.”

“Only because he believes it would get you back into bed, sister.” The barest ghost of a smile makes a muscle twitch in Lysch’s cheek. “Go see to your Second and then get some rest. Better yet, see a doctor while you’re at the medcenter.”

Kryn shakes her head, looking from Lysch to Marr. “Now that you’ve both admonished me, can we go?”

[2]  
After a brief stop at his house, just long enough to secure the box and the tome in his safe, Marr wastes no time pulling his speeder into the fastest-moving lane of traffic, though he doesn’t speak until they’re parking at the medcenter. “I get the feeling you weren’t entirely forthcoming when you told me how you know Lieutenant Pierce,” he says, amusement in his voice, as he parks.

Kryn opens her door and chuckles. “I wasn't sure you’d appreciate _we conducted a brief, brazen, and torrid affair for a few months, to my sister’s unending and very vocal annoyance_ at the time. It was a long time ago, before we even launched the attack on Corellia. And he does work for my sister, so it’s not as though I was dishonest about that part of it.” She’s silent as they make their way to the elevator, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Lysch isn’t wrong, though; he’d be full of suggestions on how to 'properly' thank him if he had to rescue me, generously laden with sarcasm about having to rescue a Sith.”

“Naturally.” He taps in the security code and selects the floor, waiting until the elevator doors have closed to continue. “I’m surprised you two ended things.”

One eyebrow arcs upward. “Are you? Even knowing my extraordinary aversion to any sort of serious relationship until quite recently?”

“Ah.” He shakes his head. “Now that you mention that, I suppose it isn’t too surprising.”

The elevator dings; the doors open on the Seconds’ ward. Kryn steps out and shrugs, her nose wrinkling when the antiseptic scent in the air reaches her. “We had our fun, parted ways as friends. But enough about my ancient history.” She points a short way down the hall. “There are Callidus and Siscien now.”

They catch up to the two Sith outside Senna’s room. “Darth Nox,” Callidus says, inclining his head. “It’s good to see you back after your involuntary sojourn on the Arcanum. Marr, we’ve already given your Second her dose.”

“It may take a few hours for it to work,” Siscien adds, “given her condition. We’re going to make our way around to each of the other Seconds before we double back to check on her.”

“Have the other Councilors been notified?”

“Yes, my lord. Some are on their way; those who cannot make it have requested regular updates. We’re going to keep all the Seconds here for at least one more night of observation, just in case. Yours may be here for a few more days, given the severity of her wound. Darth Nox, we’re about to give your Second hers. Are you accompanying us?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Siscien raps on the door, then opens it. Kryn, Marr, and Callidus step back against the wall, staying out of the way, while Siscien begins examining Senna. “Good afternoon, Laina.”

The Pureblood woman is curled up in her customary chair, datapad in hand, and looks up from her reading when the four Sith file into her room. “Darth Siscien. My lords. There haven’t been any changes,” she says with tired familiarity, an oft-repeated line.

Siscien smiles. “There will be a change today. We have the antidote.”

Her eyes widen. “You do? Where did they find it?”

“The Arcanum,” Kryn says. “And Acina has paid for her treachery with her life.”

“Good.” She rises, moving to the side of the room. “Will she wake up right away, or …?”

Darth Siscien shakes his head. “We don’t know. She’s only the third to receive it, including our test subject.” He withdraws a small pouch from a pocket on his lab coat, opens it, and pulls out a syringe. A swift injection near the incision on Senna’s shoulder, and he’s disposing of the now-empty syringe. “I can stay a few minutes, but I must see to the other Seconds soon.”

Kryn shakes her head. “I’ll stay with Senna and her mother. Go see to the others, Siscien.”

As Siscien turns for the door, Marr falls into step behind him. “Nox, report to me with your results.”

“I will, hopefully soon.” She doesn’t have to ask where he’ll be. As the two men depart, Kryn pulls the other empty chair next to Laina. “Her injury was far less severe than Bryasere’s. She ought to -”

Senna coughs, and her eyes flutter open. She looks around, eyes lighting on Laina. “I … Mother? Have you been here the whole time?”

Laina shoots to her feet, nearly tipping her chair over in her haste, and rushes to Senna’s side, perching on the edge of the bed and taking her daughter’s hand. “Of course, Senna. You don’t think I’d leave your side, do you?”

Senna looks past her. “Where is Father? Is he all right? Is he coming later?”

Kryn stands and rests a hand on Laina’s shoulder as the older woman’s face crumples. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk. I just wanted to stay until Senna woke up.”

Laina nods, tears shimmering in her amber eyes. “Thank you, Darth Nox.”

“Senna, I don’t want you back at the Citadel until you’ve fully healed,” Kryn says sternly. “Take the time you need to recuperate.”

Senna nods slowly, still watching her mother. “Yes, my lord. I will keep you apprised of my condition.”

Kryn briefly touches Senna’s forearm. “We’ll speak again soon.” She departs the room, the door closing behind her as Laina begins filling in the blanks in Senna’s memory with a halting voice. 

Marr is in Bryasere’s room, just as she’d expected, sitting rigidly in a chair, scrolling through a datapad and occasionally directing glances at his still-unconscious Second.

“She’s going to wake up,” Kryn says, dropping into the chair next to him with a sigh. Exhaustion washes over her and she leans against him. “I don’t think I’ll be going to the Citadel tomorrow,” she murmurs. “Now that I’ve sat down I feel like I could sleep for a month.”

He doesn’t mention how relieved he is that they won’t have to have that fight as he takes her hand, running his thumb across her knuckles. “That’s probably for the best. You sound completely worn out.” He shifts, settling his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t have any pressing meetings; I’m going to stay home so you can rest.”

To his surprise, she doesn’t even argue with him. She simply shifts closer and nods. “Can I convince you to make me pancakes and caf for breakfast?” 

“Of course.”

“Oh, good.” Kryn sits forward, folding her arms on her lap and resting her head on them. “I’m going to catch a quick nap. Wake me when Bryasere wakes up?”

“I will.” 

Forty-five minutes later, across the room and unseen, Bryasere opens her eyes and takes in her surroundings, fighting through a fog of confusion. A noise to her right - a chair scraping across the floor as someone adjusts their position - draws her attention, and she turns her head just enough to see who else is in the room, taking care to move the rest of her body as little as possible.

Marr and Nox are in the two chairs on the far wall; Nox is folded over, apparently asleep, as Marr reads, absentmindedly running his fingers through her disheveled red hair. Bryasere watches them for a long moment and opens her mouth to say something, not that she’s thinking clearly enough to decide _what_ she’s going to say. Maybe _I knew it_ or _well, well, well_ or something to that effect; she’d have to be blind to have not noticed the way Nox and Marr’s relationship has evolved from prickly, stilted encounters to a solid alliance that’s altered the very foundations of the Empire. 

She decides at the last second not to reveal that she’s caught them. It’s one thing to have her suspicions confirmed, but another to announce it to _them_ that she knows. She may be Marr’s most trusted underling, she may argue with him when very few other people would, but she isn’t willing to test the boundaries of their professional relationship quite so strenuously. 

She closes her eyes, opens them again, then clears her throat. “Where … where am I?” This is a mostly honest question; she knows she’s in a medcenter, but she has no idea how she got here.

Marr swiftly pulls his hand back from Kryn, nudging her before he stands and crosses to Bryasere. “Second. It’s good to see you awake.”

Behind him, Kryn sits up, trying to get her bearings, and then sees Bryasere. A bright, if tired, smile lights her face. “Oh! Welcome back to the land of the conscious, Bryasere.” She hauls herself out of the chair, wincing, and comes over to Bryasere’s side. “May I?” she asks, indicating the sheet.

Bryasere nods, then looks from Kryn to Marr as Kryn begins inspecting Bryasere’s wound. “My lord, what happened? The last thing I remember is being in the plaza. Warning you of the attack.” 

“It’s been three weeks, Bryasere.” He gestures, pulling his chair from the wall to her bedside and settling into it. “You were unconscious before we could get you here. Your wound was the worst of the Seconds who survived.”

Her eyes widen. “Survived?”

“Vowrawn and Tenere’s Seconds were killed. The culprits have all been brought to justice, including their ringleader, Acina.”

“Acina.” Bryasere makes a face, exasperation in her voice. “I said letting her go was a mistake, my lord. I told you we should have launched an attack on the Arcanum the day of the edict.”

He folds his arms across his chest, and Kryn is sure they’ve had this argument more than once. “Without knowing what sort of defenses she had in and around that station?”

Bryasere stares up at the ceiling, then scowls. “Well … no.”

A thought occurs to Kryn; she stands, waving off Marr’s questioning look. “I just remembered something. I’ll return momentarily.” 

Callidus and Siscien are in the hallway, discussing the status of the other Seconds, and they both look over when Kryn shuts the door behind her. “Callidus, a question. What’s going on with our unwilling test subject?”

“She’s still under guard in her room.” He gives her a quizzical look. “Why?”

“Darth Marr wanted a word with her.” She tilts her head toward Bryasere’s room. “Bryasere is awake, Siscien. The tendrils are receding, but I doubt she’ll be going home in the next few days.”

“Excellent.” He pulls out a datapad. “I’m going to go examine her right now.”

He disappears into the room, the door closing behind him; it reopens momentarily and Marr steps out into the hallway. He looks over at Callidus. “Do we need that prisoner for anything else, Callidus?”

“Not unless you want her dropped into the cells as her punishment, Marr.” Callidus eyes the taller man for a moment. “I assume you don’t.”

“No.”

Callidus waves a hand at the room. “Do with her as you will, then. She’s served her purpose.”

Marr nods sharply one time, then strides down the hall. He flicks a hand at the guards standing on either side of the last door on the right; they both bow and step aside. He slaps the panel, the door slides open, and he vanishes through the doorway.

Kryn and Callidus exchange a look as the door whispers closed. “It certainly wraps up the conspiracy very neatly,” Kryn finally says with a shrug. “No point in keeping any of them alive.”

“Indeed.” Callidus eyes her. “Pardon me for saying so, but you look drained, Nox. Did you come directly here from the spaceport?”

She nods. “This was too important.”

Leader’s door opens and Marr steps back into the hallway, swiftly rejoining the two Councilors. “The last of the insurgents has been dealt with.” He directs a look toward Bryasere’s room as Siscien steps out.

“Your Second is going to require further observation, Darth Marr,” Siscien says, closing the door behind him. “She’ll likely be here for another three days, possibly four, and then she’s going to need time to recuperate.”

“Of course.”

Kryn yawns widely, making a face. All she's been doing today is sleeping and yawning, it seems like. “I’m going to head home before I fall asleep where I’m standing. If anyone needs me tomorrow, I can be reached by holocom.”

“Nothing more to be done tonight.” Callidus checks a datapad. “All the Seconds have received the antidote and are under observation. Marr, there’s no reason for you to stay, either, unless you have more business with me?”

Marr shakes his head. “No. Darth Nox, I would speak with you about your time in the Arcanum, if you have a moment.”

“Of course. We’re going the same direction, yes? Walk with me.”

They reach the parking garage; Kryn sighs as she drops into the passenger seat of Marr’s speeder. “I hope you didn’t have a fancy dinner or anything planned this time.”

“Now I know you’re not feeling well,” he chuckles. “But no, I didn’t.”

“Good. Let’s go home.”

[3]  
The room is still dark when Marr is shocked out of a sound sleep by the back of Kryn’s hand connecting squarely with his cheekbone. He catches her next swing before it lands and wraps his arms around her, pinning her flailing limbs.

“Kryn!” He shakes her, just enough to jolt her awake.

She starts, looking around wildly as she tries to thrash out of his hold. “Lemme … lemme go!” She struggles for a second, slows, then stops, tilting her head to look up at him. “Matthius?” Her voice is confused. “What are you doing?”

“Stopping you from playing smashball with my face. I’m rather attached to how it looks.” He studies her. “Are you awake now? Know where you are?”

She gives him a look full of derision. “What kind of a question is that?”

“You didn’t a second ago.”

He lets her shrug out of his grasp this time, and she reaches up and touches his face. “Oh! You didn’t tell me I hit you.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll get kolto on it when I get up.” Concern creases his brow. “Nightmare?”

She hums something that sounds like agreement. “Fewer, but I’m still getting them. At least now they’re _my_ nightmares, not things I don’t recognize. What time is it?” She lifts his arm, peering at his chrono. “Ugh. Six. It’s early.” She quirks a brow at him. “Well, for _normal_ people. I’m impressed you slept in for a whole hour.”

“I see your time in the Arcanum didn’t lessen your sparkling wit a bit.” He kisses the top of her head, then rolls out of bed. “Do you want caf now, or are you going back to sleep?”

She’s already pulling the blanket back up around her. “Later,” she mumbles, muffled by the pillow and blanket both. “Go be productive for awhile, you insufferable morning person.”

She’s asleep before he even gets settled into his desk chair.

[4]  
The sky is much lighter the second time Kryn wakes up. She stretches, then shoves her hair back off her forehead as she inhales deeply. The entire bedroom smells like a diner, and she can’t stop her mouth from watering. “Mmm, what is _that_?”

“Breakfast,” Marr says, rounding the corner into the bedroom and leaning against the doorframe. “I assume you’re hungry by now; it’s nearly eleven. Do you want to eat up here, or downstairs?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it as a thought occurs to her. “Do you have my book? Can you tell me what’s in it?”

“Of course. But I’d suggest we eat downstairs, in that case.”

“Well, clearly.” She slides out of bed, padding across the room and pulling a shirt out of his drawer.

“Don’t you have clothes here?” he asks in the tone of someone who already knows the answer to their question. He crosses the room and opens his closet, revealing a veritable rainbow of fabric. “Thought so. They’re all right here, taking up half of my closet.” 

She blithely ignores this, pulling the shirt over her head while he talks. It falls like a minidress, hiding her curve-hugging shorts, and as she turns he’s not surprised to find it’s his Academy shirt. At this point, he observes somewhat wryly, he ought to just give it to her; she’s worn it more in the last two months than he has in the last two decades.

She settles one hand onto her hip and strolls over to him, looking impossibly smug. “If you don’t like how I look in it, tell me so, and I’ll take it off. I’m going to know you’re lying, but I’ll humor you.”

Silence spins out as he regards her. She’s right, of course. “I’ll confess, I’m honestly not sure if you’re trying to encourage me to take your clothes -”

She grins.

“ _My_ clothes off, or not.” He mock scowls at her as she presses her mouth into a thin line trying to contain her laughter. “But if that’s what you’re angling for, your pancakes and caf will both be cold by the time we get downstairs. Not to mention, you’re supposed to be recuperating. So you look fine -”

“Just _fine_?”

“Kryn, you cannot badger compliments out of me.”

She stomps her foot. “I _know_. It’s obnoxious.”

He ignores this, bending to kiss the top of her head before he turns back to the closet, hefting an armful of her clothing out and tossing it onto the bed. He leans back into the closet to open his safe. “Wear my shirt all you want,” he says, voice muffled. “Breakfast is ready, and I’ll bring your book. Pour my caf?”

“On it.”

She’s got the plates filled and sitting on the counter and is just pouring the caf when he makes his way down the stairs, the metal-bound tome in his hands. “We should have enough room for the book, I think, with the caf on the table. We might have to hold our plates, though.” She sets the cups down in front of the two chairs.

He settles the book onto the open space she indicates, opens it to the first page, then goes to pick up the plates and carries them over to the table, extending one to her. “Your pancakes, swimming in syrup.”

“It’s not my fault you like yours drier than Tatooine,” she says airily, taking the proffered plate and settling back into her chair. “So what did I find?”

He sits down, then slides the book to the edge of the table. “Let’s see. _Kopkrechanjat_.” He takes a bite of pancake, examining the table of contents. 

Kryn waits until it’s clear he’s not going to say anything else. “You _do_ know I don’t speak Sith, yes? You’re going to have to translate.”

“It’s a book of various conjurations. Mostly offensive, from what I can see.” He stands, deposits his mostly-full plate on the counter, and returns to the table. “You eat while I read. This here,” he says, pointing at a heading. “This is _dwomut_ , ‘summoning’. Everything listed below this are different things you can summon, I assume with these incantations.” He scans the list, his attention drawn to a particular entry. “Hmm.” He opens another section of the book, disappointed when the page is devoid of illustrations. “ _Dwomut tsaprichûl_. It translates to ‘summon ….” He trails off, brows drawing together, confusion sitting uncomfortably on his face as he parses the word. “Nightwalker.’”

Kryn pauses, overloaded fork halfway to her mouth. “What’s a nightwalker?”

Marr shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard the term.”

“You could recite the incantation and we could find out,” she suggests cheerily, her mouth full of pancakes. “I never say no to adventure.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Or we could _not_ do that, since you’re still recovering from the last one. Not to mention, we have no idea what would happen and I don’t think I want a nightwalker, whatever that is, stampeding around my house.”

“Spoilsport,” she mumbles. “Fine. What else is in here?” She wags an eyebrow and scoots her chair closer to his. “Read some more Sith to me.”

There’s the rustle of pages as he turns back to the table of contents. “Here, read with me. You don’t have the Kittât memorized yet but you ought to familiarize yourself with it, and there’s enough repetition that you can start recognizing individual runes and their sounds, though we won’t go through this entire list right now.” He points to one. “ _Dwomut taral_ , summon protector.” Two below that. “ _Dwomut sedriss_ , summon nightmare, and this next is _dwomut_ -”

“Hold on.” She takes one last bite, excitement written plain on her features. “Let me go get some flimsy, I want to start writing this down.” She slides off her chair, sets her plate on the counter and disappears into the living room, returning in short order with flimsy and a pen. Once she’s settled back in her seat, she gives him an expectant look. “All right. Start over?”

He repeats the last two, more slowly this time, watching as she copies first the runes, then a transcript of what he’s saying in Aurebesh underneath, correcting her spelling here and there. “ _Dwomut sutta pratjotador_ , summon ... oblivion’s spear.” He runs a finger down the list as she writes. “Clear mind, that’s interesting. An augment, possibly, to the power of one of these others. And suppress mind, of course.”

“Which two are those?”

“Clear mind is _qûtut kyantuska_.” He points it out, pauses as she copies it. “And suppress mind is _qâzut kyantuska_.” 

Kryn studies the list for a long moment. “What’s this down here?” she asks, tapping one near the bottom. “I recognize … a bit of the end, it’s the same as the ….” She trails off, examines her notes, then points at one line. “The same as one! This is the spear one, right? The longer one.”

He nods. “That’s correct.”

“But the rest of it is different. What is it?”

“ _Tuzut qyâfekdor_ ,” he says. “Binding of the spirit. Which sounds similar to what you do already.” He checks the page then turns to the incantation, examining it. “I wonder what the difference is.”

“What are these illustrations in the margins? There’s a note under this one.” She taps a picture of an elaborately carved box, drawn multiple times from different angles.

“It has to be performed while you’re holding this artifact, apparently. Do you recognize this? Either from your vaults or at the Arcanum?”

She examines it. “No. I think I’d remember seeing an intricate box like that. But perhaps one of my archivists knows what it is; I’ll have to ask them. So you perform the incantation with the artifact. But what does it do? Besides ‘bind a spirit,’ obviously, which is incredibly vague. Can you tell?”

“The incantation itself sounds like it’s for binding a Force spirit into a physical form, rather than doing what you do, which is taking its power into yourself.”

“Could ….” Kryn taps the end of her pen on the table, lost in thought. “Could we use this against Vitiate? He was still incorporeal when he left Ziost, yes?”

The house falls silent as they exchange a look. His eyes widen. “Theoretically, that could work. We’d have to find him. And this artifact, which is going to be difficult because we have no idea where to begin looking. This Darth Aiis, whoever they were, is long gone.” He reads the incantation again. “But it sounds possible, if we can get all those pieces in place.” 

“Well, anything is worth trying, I would think. Before he comes after the rest of the Empire.” She looks tentatively excited. “So the galaxy’s worst mini-vacation might have been useful, after all. Darth Aiis, you said?” She scrawls the name on the bottom of her sheet of flimsy. “I’ll get my people looking for information on them right away.”

“We still need to locate Vitiate, as well.”

Kryn doodles in the corner of the flimsy as she thinks, biting her bottom lip. “The Hand. The Hand have to know where he is. I’ll find a way to make one of them talk.”

Marr watches her scrawl a note. “I wouldn’t suggest melting them. I don’t think that’s an effective interrogation technique.”

She can’t stifle a bark of surprised laughter. “Yes, I’ll try a different tactic this time.” She doesn’t look up from what she’s writing. “Go get your pancakes and eat. Maybe we can pick up language lessons later.”


	41. Back to Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three weeks since the Wrath recovered the antidote for the injured Seconds. Various spheres are on the hunt for the mysterious box Kryn and Marr saw in the book of incantations. Rogue Sith, part of the still-unknown Vitiatum, have been captured.

[1]  
Kryn doesn’t see the sheet of flimsy until after she’s out of the shower and back in the bedroom, one towel wrapped around her waist and one around her hair. She glances at the desk as she strolls toward the closet and plucks it off the edge, quickly skimming the neat, elegant writing.

 _K,_  
_Had early calls to make about our mystery artifact. Caf is made. Come by my office before the executions? If you don’t have time we can talk afterward._  
_M._

She inhales deeply, smiling when she catches the scent of caf on the air. She drapes her two towels over the desk chair and turns to look through the closet.

[2]  
Senna is seated at one of the few occupied desks in Kryn’s outer office, her fingers flying over her keyboard, when Kryn arrives. The top of her desk is nearly obscured by books and datapads perched in precarious stacks, all work that piled up in her absence. A pale red scar spiderwebs down her left arm, peeking out of her short-sleeved shirt, the only visible remnant of the attack at the Fair. As footsteps draw near and then stop, the Pureblood woman looks up from her terminal. “Good morning, my lord.”

“Morning, Senna,” Kryn says, picking up a datapad and perusing it. “Anything interesting happen yet this morning? Did someone find my missing artifact?”

“Not yet, but it is only nine,” Senna says before flicking a hand at the stacks of datapads and flimsy. “Still catching up on those two extra weeks I was out. I’m kind of regretting taking that second week, honestly. I could have handled things.”

“No, you needed it.” Kryn carefully sets the datapad back on its stack. “If you need me to handle some of this, send it my way.”

Senna shakes her head, gives Kryn a familiar mulish look. “I’ve got it, my lord. I should have most of it done by the end of this week, then I’m going to get back to my regular routine. Being cooped up in the Citadel is driving me mad.”

Kryn chuckles. “Very well. But the offer stands.” She eyes Senna’s scar. “Any residual pain?”

“There was for about the first week, but keeping kolto gel on it helped immensely. I’ve got full range of motion back; the scar is all that’s left.”

“Good.” She checks her chrono. “I’m going to go take care of a few things before I head out to the square. Will you be joining us?”

Senna shakes her head. “No. I’m just going to watch it on the Holonet while I work. Airen is bringing up another set of texts I requested, and once I’m done with these field reports I’m going to see what I can find about this box you’re looking for.” She sighs. “I wish we weren’t just guessing at where to look for information, but I can’t find anyone who even knows what it is, let alone where it might be.” Her mouth sets in a determined line. “But we’ll find it, my lord. Go do what you need to do; I’ll speak with you when you return.”

[3]  
Barash Clechad, co-owner of Clechad Caf, also runs the most popular caf stand in the Citadel, situated in a prime location on the main concourse. The stand, open from five in the morning til seven at night, is rarely without one or two people in line; to Kryn’s great surprise, Barash is all alone when she saunters up to the counter. “Did I finally miss the morning rush for once?”

“Sure did, my lord,” he says brightly, already pulling a large cup off a dwindling stack. Kryn, who often jokes about being fueled exclusively by caf and snark, is one of his favorite customers, not that he’d admit he has favorites. “It was a circus out here ten minutes ago.”

She watches him whistle as he bustles around the stand. “You are in an awfully good mood this morning, Barash. A noticeably better mood than your usual already-chipper demeanor.”

The barest hint of a flush chases over his golden-brown cheeks. “Am I, my lord?” When all she does is give him a withering look in response, he grins sheepishly. “I didn’t know it was that obvious.”

Kryn leans over the counter. “Gonna tell me her name?” she says, conspiratorial, before directing a glance at where Bryasere usually loiters. She’d have to be blind to not have noticed how he and Bryasere watch each other when they think no one’s paying attention, and more than once she’s been tempted to give them a little nudge, Sith attitudes about consorting with non-Sith be damned.

He doesn’t miss where she’s looking. “Oh no, my lord. Terribly unprofessional to gossip at work.”

“Hmmm. Indeed.” She straightens and takes the cup. “A large reserve, as well. And has Bryasere been by? She’s back to work today.”

He shakes his head. “She usually arrives early enough to get her caf before she heads to her office, but she had a lot to take care of this morning since she’s been out for three weeks. She said she’d come by later.”

“I’ll take one of her usual along with the reserve, then, please.” She watches him make the two drinks, then picks up all three cups. “Have a good one, Barash.”

Her smile is _just_ knowing enough to make him fidget. “You too, my lord.”

Kryn strolls through the hallways and into the controlled chaos of Marr’s front office, then smiles brightly at the woman seated at the desk nearest the door set into the far wall. “Bryasere, I’m glad to see you looking well.” She checks the cups, then extends one. “Barash told me what your usual is and asked me to send his greetings.”

The Second takes the proffered cup, clearly pleased. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll stop by at lunch and say hello.” She examines Kryn, concealing the smile teasing the corner of her mouth behind her caf. “Darth Marr arrived quite early this morning; I believe he just finished a meeting.”

Kryn regards her curiously for a moment. “Thank you, Bryasere,” she says slowly, clearly wanting to say something else before she changes her mind. She taps the entry panel on the nearby wall; Marr’s office door slides open, and she gives the Second a jaunty little wave before departing.

Marr waits to speak until she drops into her usual chair. “Good morning, Nox.”

“Morning.” She leans forward, setting his cup of caf on his desk, then eyes him. “What time did you leave?”

He gestures, locking his office door before he removes his mask and picks up the caf. “Five. Reached out to a few contacts: a retired Academy instructor, a questionable dealer of antiquities I keep an eye on, one of our Republic agents.” He shakes his head, takes a drink of caf. “None of them have heard of it, but they’re going to see what they can find.”

“Who knew you knew such interesting people?” Kryn exclaims in insincere shock. “Are you coming with me to the executions?”

He nods. “Mortis and I agree that our presence is mandatory.”

“Makes sense. Is the Wrath handling this personally?”

“At least the leader of this particular cell. The underlings - acolytes, apprentices, lesser lords who followed along - will be executed simultaneously by the Imperial Guard.”

She sits back in her chair and folds her arms. “How many?”

“Twenty.”

Kryn’s shoulders slump as she sighs. “And that’s just one cell.”

“Yes. But the Wrath eliminated two others and now wishes to speak to the Empire, which is unheard of. Perhaps she’ll be able to dissuade more people from joining this misbegotten Vitiatum rebellion.”

Kryn’s jaw drops. “Lysch is giving a _speech_? Voluntarily? Now there’s no way I’d miss it.” She checks her chrono, then stands. “We’d better get out there. I’ll just leave my caf here.”

[4]  
The Citadel is built into the sheer rock face that marks the northernmost border of Kaas City, stretching up into the clouds and farther down into the ground than most Imperials will ever discover, looming over the city sprawled before it. A wide, walled square extends outward, and it’s here that a crowd has gathered in front of the Sanctum, their attention focused on the twenty Sith standing in front of a row of Imperial guards. The Wrath paces in front of them, the picture of barely contained rage in high-necked, form-fitting armor black as the depths of space, a seldom-seen cape billowing out behind her.

“Any word on any others?” Marr asks as he and Kryn join Atroxa, Mortis, and Tekton, standing to the side. Atroxa has folded her arms across her chest. Mortis’ hands are clasped behind his back. Tekton stands akimbo, her hands on her hips. 

Mortis shakes his head. “No. Word of Darth Zhromael’s capture has spread; I’m sure there are more but they’ve gone to ground.”

Marr makes a noise of disgust and folds his arms. Lysch, a few steps away from the Councilors, clears her throat. “Darth Marr.”

Marr nods, touches the comlink on his wrist. “Now, Tenere.”

The transmitter in the square activates; the Wrath and the prisoners are broadcast across the Empire. 

Lysch doesn't stop moving, prowling as she speaks. “After Revan and his cult were put down like mongrels, I thought the Empire understood what happens to traitors. I have since learned that I was wrong.”

She crouches, then Force-leaps backward, landing behind the row of prisoners. The guard in front of her steps aside, and she slams her boot into the back of the knees of the man in front of her. The Pureblood crashes to the ground, biting his lip but remaining silent.

“Darth Zhromael thought it was acceptable to betray the Empire.” She fists a hand in his dark hair and wrenches his head back. “But I find traitors.” One of her lightsabers hisses to life and a red glow washes over the two. A sharp swing of her saber; his decapitated body collapses. “I eliminate them.” She drops his head, paying no heed to the gasp of the crowd, and activates her second saber, then thrusts them out to each side. When she yanks them back to her, the two humans that had been flanking Darth Zhromael drop. “I eliminate their co-conspirators.” 

She raises one saber, then lowers it. The guards standing behind the remaining eighteen prisoners impale them, their lightsabers cutting through their chests like butter. Lysch waits until they fall and the guards have deactivated their weapons. “No matter where you run, no matter where you hide, I will find you. Look upon this destruction. Know with unassailable certainty that if you follow this path, this is your end.”

She deactivates her sabers and reattaches them to her belt, then stalks away, disappearing into the Citadel.

The broadcast ends. 

Next to Kryn, Atroxa nods sharply. “I like the Wrath.”

Kryn chuckles. “You may be the first person to ever say that. She’s effective, I’ll give her that. Not personable in the least, but certainly effective. Darth Marr, you’ll let me know if your contacts turn up anything on our project?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I’ve got ….” She trails off, looking past him as another thought occurs to her. “I’ve got to make a call after I get my caf from your office. Excuse me.” Pivoting smartly, she hurries toward the Citadel, datapad already in hand.

She’s still in Marr’s office when he gets back, kicked back in his chair with her heels propped in a clear spot on the edge of his desk, talking to Lord Edrin. “Go ahead and run those tests, Edrin. Let me know how they turn out. Is Scourge there? If so I’d like to talk to him before I disconnect.”

Edrin’s hologram bows. “Yes, he is, my lord. One moment.”

Edrin disappears, and Scourge appears. “You wished to speak with me?”

Kryn looks down at her datapad, then at Marr as he settles into her usual chair, pointing at her boots. She swings them off the desk before she answers Scourge. “So you served the Emperor for centuries, but you didn’t see him very often. How did you two communicate? Holo? Letters? Carrier nexu?”

“Vitiate’s command of the Force was enough that he could speak directly to me, much like he did the Hand.”

Kryn slowly raises her head from her datapad. “A mockery of a Force bond, then? Scourge, can you sense Vitiate? Where he is, perhaps?”

He drums his fingers on his chest, facial tendrils twitching as he thinks. “Possibly. I don’t know how long it would take, though I may be in the best place to do so, barring the temple on Dromund Kaas. I can try.”

“Do. Don’t worry about the research for now. If Semiri has a problem with that she can call me. We have enough of the Hand there that we don’t need to be testing you right now anyway.” She makes a few more notes. “When you learn anything, call me, no matter the hour.”

Scourge gives Kryn a distinctly mischievous look. “Not to countermand you, but I've heard stories about how you are when people wake you up.”

Kryn lobs a datapad at Marr, nodding in agreement on the other side of the desk; he catches it and begins scrolling through it, levitating his caf to his hand as he does. “Semiri runs her mouth too much. I think you can handle one cranky person, Scourge. Are you a Sith or a squellbug?”

“Such a base accusation, Councilor,” Scourge says, chuckling. “I will contact you immediately, as you asked. Ah, also, progress has been made on weaponizing that batch of serum we tested last time you were here. The darts, and one experimental grenade, are here in Edrin’s lab.”

Kryn nods and makes a note. “Excellent. I’ll let you go. Thank you for your help with this.”

Scourge inclines his head, then disconnects.

“Out of my chair, Nox. Are your feet even touching the ground?” Marr doesn't look up. “And don't make that face at me.”

“Too late for _that_ , isn’t it?” Kryn slouches forward into a thoroughly uncomfortable position, brushing her toes against the rug. “My feet are absolutely touching the ground. See?”

He looks up to find her a good quarter of the way off the chair, struggling to keep a neutral face; the only thing that gives away his amusement is a muted chuffing sound. “I stand corrected.”

“I need to go, anyway. And not because this is uncomfortable.” She bites her lip as she wrenches herself out of the awkward sitting position and tucks her datapad under her arm. “Are we doing language lessons tonight?”

“As always. You're not going to throw the practice book this time, are you?”

She gives him a halfhearted slap on the arm. “One time. It was _one time_ , Marr. Let it go.”

“I will not. You hit me in the face. And laughed about it.”

“You didn’t see your expression. And I apologized,” she retorts, smirk on her face. Before he can reply, she picks up her caf. “Let me know when we're leaving.” She gives him a lazy salute and strolls out of the office.

[5]  
“Again. Listen.” Marr sounds like the galaxy’s sternest professor as he taps the book. “ _Tsimdzinottoi_.”

Kryn looks down at the page, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar word and wrap her mouth around it. As she expects, it comes out a garbled mess, at least to her ears. She swipes a datapad off his desk in frustration. “This shouldn’t be this hard! It sounds easy when _you_ do it.”

“I would hope it sounds easy when I do it; I started language drills at five. Look.” He leans over her, bracing one arm on the desk as he picks up a pen, writing the word on a piece of flimsy and drawing swift, short lines to separate it into sections. “Here are the syllables. Don’t forget to emphasize the first.”

She scowls, tilting her head back to look at him. “Shouldn’t I just be learning the incantation?”

“No. We don’t want to take a chance on something going wrong. Once you’ve mastered the fundamentals, we’ll start working on that. This practice is mostly for pronunciation.” He arches an eyebrow, fully aware he’s going to needle her pride. “As I recall, you insisted that you don’t know what you’re reading. This could be about that ritual and you wouldn’t know.”

“In your practice book?” She snorts. “Please.” Kryn looks down at the book, her brow furrowed with concentration. “This is ….” She trails off, muttering to herself. “It’s something to do with history. Something about the exile. I recognize some of these from the last book we read. And that’s Sorzus Syn’s name there.”

Marr smiles, pleased. “Yes. I told you you knew some of it.” He presses a kiss to her temple. “Try again. You almost had it that last time.”

“I ….” She bites her lip and gives him a coquettish look. “I might need some more motivation.”

He shakes his head. “That subterfuge is not going to work two days in a row, Kryn. You only have ten minutes left. Finish this page, then go choose another book, since we finished the last one last night.”

“I like that I can tell how unwilling that _no_ is.” She grins up at him. “But I’ll finish.”

“Good. You do that, while I go research muting bonds. It’s giving you far too many advantages.”

When she closes the book fifteen minutes later, he’s still downstairs at his terminal; she ruffles his hair as she walks by. “Almost done?”

“I can stop. Jests aside, it would likely be in our best interest to develop a shielding technique and begin practicing it.” He keeps reading as she passes him, investigating a row of bound books on a center shelf. “Remember, no peeking. Just choose one.”

“I know, I know.” Her hand hovers over one with a dark blue cover, then one with a black cover, before settling on a red one. “Here. How about this?” She closes the difference between them and hands him the volume.

He looks at it, then back at her, struggling to keep a straight face. “Are you sure you didn’t peek?”

Her mouth thins into an annoyed line. “Yes!”

“Pick a page. Just open it up to anywhere.” He extends it to her.

She snatches it out of his hand. “Fine, but I don’t see -” She stops speaking as she opens the book. The page contains a beautifully rendered, highly detailed illustration of two Pureblood Sith, nude, wrapped in a complicated amorous embrace. “Oh!” She tilts her head, then rotates the book. “I don’t see where my other leg is supposed to go.”

“And you just happened to pick _this_ book.” He doesn’t even try to keep the skepticism out of his voice. “Out of all the books I have, you selected the _Râzkaj Ladzleq_.”

“I swear! I didn’t pick it on purpose. Although, since I _did_ choose it, it wouldn’t be right to put it back.” She wags her eyebrows at him, thrusts the book back into his hands. “I’ll let you pick one for us to … study.”

He opens it, then shakes his head. “Absolutely not. This one would put one or both of us in the medcenter.”

She peers over the top of the book, a low whistle escaping her. “Can you even bend like that?”

“Not without major surgery. Or grievous injury.” He opens to a page about halfway through, this one covered in writing. “However, this does have multiple sections on traditions and customs, so it’s still acceptable.” He stands, tucking the book under his arm before he holds a hand out to her.

She takes it, giving him a shrewd look. “You just want to keep the book with the sexy pictures in the bedroom.”

“And? They don’t all require the participants to be contortionists.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Shall I put it away? We can choose another.”

“No!” She tugs his arm as he slows his steps, acting like he’s going to put it away. “Besides, traditions and customs are interesting even if I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“You just like listening to me read.”

“And I’ve never hidden that fact, have I?” She grins at him. “Come on.”


	42. The Call of the Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn has grown frustrated with the fruitless search for Darth Aiis' relic and makes plans to take matters into her own hands, enlisting the Council's support for a perilous clandestine expedition.

[1]  
“Matthius, walk me through operations planning.”

Kryn is leaning against Marr’s bent legs, her unbound hair cascading along his thighs. She sounds distracted, dividing her attention between her busily chiming message notifications, whatever it is she’s reading, and this week’s favored holodrama - yet another group of people with too many credits and too little sense, as far as Marr can tell from the few snippets he’s paid attention to. 

“You’ll have to give me more specifics." He sets his book on the bedside table, though he keeps combing his fingertips through her hair. “There’s a vast difference between a training operation, a holding operation like Hoth, and a conquest operation like Corellia, however ill-advised that operation was.”

She clucks her tongue, sounding disappointed. “There isn’t a sample format that can be followed and tweaked, just to make sure you cover your bases? I don’t really want to take a strategy class at the Academy for this one thing.”

“Kryn.” He waits the ten minutes for the credits to roll on her show, then moves his legs, giving her a stern glare as she falls against his chest. “Why do you ask?”

She taps her datapad, drops it into his hand, and tilts her head back to look at him, albeit upside down. She looks far too smug for his liking, which only further heightens his curiosity. “The results of the aerial reconnaissance missions I had run.”

He falls silent, scrolling through images and reports. “Right. You showed these to me when you first got them.”

“Matthius, we have looked everywhere for this damned artifact. We’ve checked my vaults and archives. Nomas’. The Academy. Libraries across the Empire. You even had your contacts in the Jedi Order see what they could turn up, and your black market guy has been looking for a solid month.” She pushes herself up, then turns, folding her legs under her as she regards him. “And what have we found?”

He scowls. “Nothing.” 

She nods. “We’ve found nothing. Not on Darth Aiis, not on this box.” Silence spins out, and she’s unsuccessful in her attempt to keep the triumph off her face. “But there’s at least one place we haven’t checked.”

He narrows his eyes as he realizes what she’s getting at. “We’ve already had this discussion. We came to an _agreement_. No, Kryn. Absolutely not.”

“Yes, Matthius. We’re going to Odacer-Faustin. We can’t leave it unchecked. Unless you have another suggestion for where to search, it would be the height of folly to simply avoid this place, don’t you think?” She folds her arms, giving him a shrewd look. “Have you yourself not said that we should leave no stone unturned in our quest to stop Vitiate?”

His jaw tightens, his expression darkening further when Kryn’s face hardens into similar stubbornness. “Do not think to impugn my commitment to the Empire, Kryn.”

“Then stop being obstinate and help me. I’m going no matter what.” She drops her datapad and takes his hands. “But I would prefer your help. Your expertise will be invaluable.”

“I’m not going to help -”

Kryn’s mouth flattens into a line and she shoves herself away from him before he can finish his sentence, irritation sharpening her words. “Very well. I have research to do.” She slides off the bed, stooping to press a perfunctory kiss to his temple. “I love you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He hadn't been expecting her ire to flare to life so quickly, and she’s out the door and nearly all the way down the stairs before he manages to catch up with her. “Kryn, _wait_. If you’d let me finish -”

“Finish what?” She whirls to face him. “Finish lecturing me about how foolhardy this is? I’m well aware, but it needs to be done. Since apparently I am the only one willing to do it, leave me to my work.”

His brows draw together. “If you’d let me finish,” he repeats, this time through clenched teeth, “I was going to tell you that I’m not just going to give you a period of instruction on planning a mission. I wish to formally request a posting on your team.”

“You - ” A slow smile turns up the corners of her mouth. “Really? You’re not going to stay here this time?”

“No. You’re going to be focused on your mission and don’t need your attention diverted. It would be better if you have someone watching your back.” He pauses, studying her face. “I won’t presume to tell you who to choose for your squad. Or squads,” he says, on further consideration. “You’ll want more than one.” He jerks his chin back toward the bedroom. “Get the datacard. We’ll bring up the reconnaissance holos and hash out a plan to present to the Council.”

Kryn nods, already on her way back up the stairs. “Can we have it ready by tomorrow?”

“Enough of one to hit the ground running, yes.” When she’s past him, he catches her by the wrist and leans over to kiss her. “As though I’d send you off to do this alone. Honestly, Kryn.”

[2]  
Kryn, tired of the dreariness of the lower level Council chamber, has instead elected to hold her impromptu meeting in the large conference room near the top of the Citadel. The wide, tall windows showcase the occasional bursts of lightning in the Kaas atmosphere, augmenting the overhead lighting. She looks up from her notes as the door slides open and Vowrawn joins her and Marr.

“Is it time to fight over the budget already?” He smiles as he settles into his seat. “I thought I called those meetings.”

“Sadly, no,” Kryn says with a chuckle, “as much as I enjoy wrangling for more credits for my projects. There’s more room here for me to put up the holos I need to display for this.” She slides a datacard into the terminal on the conference table and taps a button. A holographic display of Odacer-Faustin from orbit appears in the center of the table. The recon holos and some supplementary materials flicker to life on the long wall opposite the windows.

Three holograms appear nearly simultaneously - Rictus, Nomas, and Atroxa - at the same time Callidus and Tenere stride into the room. Aruk’s hologram flickers to life next, and Mortis, Tekton, and Otium complete the group, taking their seats and watching Kryn expectantly.

“As some of you know,” she says without preamble, “I’ve been on the hunt for an artifact for the last month, since my surprise trip to the Arcanum.” She taps the first holo, showing the intricate puzzle box. “It behooves us to eliminate Vitiate before this ridiculous Vitiatum gains any more ground than it already has, though I believe its hold has weakened since the Wrath made quite the example of one of its little groups, yes?”

Mortis nods. “There are still pockets here and there, but people are far less willing to look the other way when they know they’ll meet the same fate for knowingly turning a blind eye.”

“Good. Rather than allowing it to fester, though, we need to eliminate the source of their adulation. The problem, of course, is that not only do we not know where Vitiate is, he is - as far as we know - still incorporeal. This artifact will force him into a physical form once we find him, allowing us to dispatch him once and for all … once we find it.”

Her mouth twists in annoyance. “I have conducted a thorough search of my own vaults. Nomas has combed the Arcanum. Otium, did you hear back from your Cartel contact?”

“I did.” The Nautolan shakes her head. “No one has ever seen something like that. She said she would keep looking, but I don’t hold out much hope. An artifact like that would be unlikely to fall into non-Sith hands, excepting perhaps if the Jedi Order found or claimed it.”

Marr sits forward. “They haven’t. We have eyes and ears in the Order, and they made discreet inquiries, to no avail.”

Kryn points to the second holo, an overhead shot of the ruined academy. “I’m launching an expedition to check the library at Odacer-Faustin.”

There’s a small gasp from Vowrawn at the same time Nomas raises her hand. “Academy?” The Vahla looks as surprised as Kryn's ever seen her. “What academy is this?”

“Darth Marr?” Kryn takes her seat and pulls out a pad of flimsy.

Marr taps his datapad and waits until a variety of notifications chime around the room. “This is the report on the academy on Odacer-Faustin. It was overrun by a plague of Sith origin and all but destroyed. Our report of events comes from the Jedi who survived both the plaguebearers and the academy headmaster. Casualty rate for Sith and students was one hundred percent … as far as we’re aware.” He rises from his chair and takes Kryn’s place, pointing to the center of the first recon holo. “This was the main tower; it exploded during the fall of the academy. You can see how the facility radiated outward from there. Our focus is the library.” 

He taps a darker area. “It’s believed the library at this academy had materials stretching back a thousand years, but when the plague overtook it we were forced to abandon it. Given the size of the facility - there are hallways and rooms still unmapped - it is very possible the artifact we seek is here. The question is if it survived the fire that Jedi describes in her report.”

“Aside from the artifact, which is our main focus,” Kryn interjects, “we need to bring as much of that library back to Dromund Kaas as possible. I’m making this a two-pronged mission, and taking four teams to accomplish it.”

Callidus looks up from his perusal of the report. “If this report is entirely factual, with no details dreamed up or exaggerated by this Jedi, it’s saying these Sith were twisted into a mockery of life that couldn’t be killed by normal means and passed the plague through bites. I would suggest we send an advance team, composed of some of my best scientists. I’m going to need samples if you’re going to have any sort of healing apparatus that will be even moderately effective.”

“If you’re sending an advance team,” Atroxa says, “send one of scientists and one to prepare the way for the rest of these teams. It’s been abandoned for nearly a decade? There will be rubble to clear, creatures to flush out. If you have time to speak after this meeting, Callidus, we can put these together and have them on their way in the next few days.” She pauses and looks over at Kryn. “If that’s acceptable, Nox.”

“It is, and I hadn’t considered advance teams, which is exactly why I wanted to bring this to the Council’s attention.” Kryn consults a list in front of her. “I’m taking any other suggestions, as well.”

“Everyone on every team needs to be in a warsuit,” Marr says. “I don’t care what their job is, if the plague is passed via bite, every step must be taken to combat the possibility of these … things, if they’re still alive, being effective.”

Nomas looks up from her rapid-fire notes. “I’m already pulling people off of other projects to work on an armor coating. The armor itself is a good start, but if this is as virulent as this report suggests, you can’t have too much protection.”

“Good. Nox has put combat and security planning for this operation under my purview, allowing her to focus on her sphere’s contribution to the teams. Atroxa and Tekton, if you have people you know would be suited to this mission, get their names to me by the end of next week. They don’t need to be Sith, but any non-Force sensitives submitted will need an extraordinary resume.”

Atroxa nods. “Callidus, comm me when you’re done with the rest of this meeting and we’ll get moving on this advance team. If we work fast, we can get it en route today or tomorrow. Nox, if there’s nothing else you need from me, I’m running on a tight schedule.”

“I don’t have anything else. Marr?”

“No. I’ll speak with you later, Atroxa.”

She nods and her hologram disappears. Kryn stands and taps the last holo, a blank roster. “As you can see, I’m looking for particular capabilities for each team. Callidus, do you already know who you’re going to put in charge of this prototype you want to create?”

“Yes. Annaevel Luxanor is one of my best people. Depending on what the advance team brings back, I have every faith in her ability to develop something workable for this mission.”

“Good. I’d like to bring her, so we have an on-site expert. How is her combat ability?”

“Nox,” Marr interjects. “One of our first meetings needs to be a combat and skills assessment so we have time to replace anyone who doesn’t reach the standard required.”

“I concur,” Callidus says, “and Luxanor has consistently high marks on her combat requalifications. You won’t be disappointed.”

“Very well. Submit your nominations for healers to me. Nomas, I’d like a variety of representatives from you as well, simply because we’re not sure what we’re going to find there. Some of the ones who catalogued the Arcanum, possibly.”

“Done. Look for that list today. Shall I send them to meet with you?”

“No, just their contact information, please.” Kryn checks her list. “Most of the rest of these are mine to fill,” she says, mostly to herself. “We’ll still need labor. Arranging transport.” She falls silent, fingers flying over her keyboard. 

“Nox, given the rumored size of this library and the uncertainty about any remaining inhabitants, I would send a cadre of assassins,” Rictus says. “They’ll move more stealthily than a large group looking to catalogue contents and thus can do forward reconnaissance, reporting about any creatures they find.”

Kryn considers, tapping her fingers on her chin. “An excellent suggestion. Put together your team, and I’ll see them at the first meeting. Darth Marr, is your schedule clear enough to have this first full meeting in two weeks? We can brief everyone and move directly into the combat assessment if you can clear the full day.”

Marr consults his calendar. “A full day? The twenty-fourth is no good for me but I can do the day before. Time?”

“We can start at ten. Callidus, you and Atroxa take the lead on this advance team but I need to be kept informed.”

The Pureblood inclines his head. “Of course, Nox. You’ll have a message and a mission order from me as soon as we’ve finalized details.”

“If no one else has anything?” Kryn looks around, waits for everyone to signal that they don’t. “We can adjourn.”

“I have a few further notes,” Marr says as everyone stands and holograms wink out. “But we can discuss them in my office. I have a meeting; can you stop by in about an hour?”

Kryn nods. “Yes. Hopefully I’ll have more of this chart filled in by then, too.”

[3]  
Kryn has her head bent over her roster, tapping her pen as she thinks, when the far door hisses open and a familiar, thoroughly annoyed voice booms through Kryn’s office, accompanied by heavy footfalls. “What the hell, _my lord_?”

Kryn doesn’t look up, though she can’t quite quash her smile. “Hello, Lieutenant Pierce. What brings you to the office of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge? Are you lost? I believe the gym is in a different building.”

He ignores this, slapping his palms onto the edge of Kryn’s desk and glowering down at the top of her head. “You’re gonna go on a big fucking adventure and not invite me?”

Kryn sets her pen down, tilts her head, and arches one eyebrow. “I haven’t yet issued all my invitations for my, as you put it, big fucking adventure. We only had a preliminary planning meeting about an hour ago, so really, there’s no need to yell at me quite yet.” She leans back in her chair and folds her arms. “How did you hear about it, anyway?”

“Your sister assumed I was going and asked me about it.” He leans over, bracing his elbows on the desk, and gives her a pouty-lipped look, his eyes wide. “I get to go, right? You know I’ll have your back. You know I’m great in a fight. No way are you leaving me out of this, are you?”

Kryn suspects Lysch mentioned it to Pierce on purpose. She had to know how he’d react to the promise of life-threatening danger. Kryn mentally curses how well that stupid puppy dog face works on her and makes a note to have words with her sister later this evening. “Pierce, it’s a Sith academy.”

“And? Come _on_ , please?”

She doesn’t try to fight the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I forgot how _cute_ you are when you beg. Are you going to get on your knees, too?”

His expression slides into a facsimile of betrayal, his mouth falling open. “You weren’t so heartless before you became a Councilor, you know.” He considers for a long moment. “But I will, if you’re gonna take me with you.”

Silence falls over the office as they regard each other. “Waiting on you, Lieutenant.” Kryn lifts her chin and points at the floor.

A scowl darkens his face, and for a moment Kryn is sure he’s just going to leave, but then he drops to one knee in front of her and sticks his tongue out. “Happy?”

Kryn looks him up and down, far too pleased for Pierce’s liking. “It would only be better if you were naked. But honestly, that goes for most things.” 

“I can go, right?”

“Oh, very well.” She waits until he clambers to his feet. “There’s a meeting for all strike team members in nine days. It’s at nine in the morning in my office, and you need to be there. You’ll have to meet with Darth Marr’s approval; he’s coordinating our defenses. And you’re going to need full body armor if you don’t have it. No exposed skin.”

“I’ll go talk to Supply tonight.” He grins down at her, teeth bright against his rich brown skin. “You’re still my favorite, you know.”

It’s an old, familiar line, and she chuckles before she gives her standard answer. “Liar. Your favorite will always be you.” She stands. “I have a meeting, but I’ll walk out with you.”

When they reach the concourse, he jostles her with his elbow. “See ya later, Kr -” She raises an eyebrow at him and he grins. “Pardon me. Nox.” He tosses her a jaunty, insubordinate salute and strolls toward the entrance.

She watches him saunter out of the Citadel, then sidles up to the caf stand. “Afternoon, Barash. The usual. Today is all meetings all the time and I need to stay awake.”

“You got it, my lord.” He places a blissfully warm cup of caf into Kryn’s hands in short order. “There you go. Just so you know, you’re down to about … three more days on your account.”

“Oh! I’ll be back by today or tomorrow morning with more credits for you. I’d do it now but -” she checks her chrono and winces. “I’m already late. Thanks again!”

She hurries toward Marr’s office, giving Bryasere a quick wave as she hustles through the open door, closing it behind her. “Sorry, I got a last minute visitor,” she huffs as she drops into her chair, setting her caf on the desk. “I assume you’re taking the defense position on my team?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll have you,” Kryn repeats mockingly. “Who else would I want to watch my back? Don’t be ridiculous; you know you don’t even have to ask. Please add Lieutenant Pierce on Besh. I mentioned this expedition to my sister when we were talking last night, and she assumed Pierce was going. Of course, once he heard about it, he _had_ to go, and I just can’t resist a man that begs me for things.” She grins. “Feel free to use that information as you see fit. Now, what did you need to meet with me for?”

Marr finishes adding Pierce’s name to his roster before he speaks. “I know you don’t have the kind of armor we need for this operation, Kryn. I want you to meet with my armorsmith.”

“You have a _personal armorsmith_?” She smirks. “Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you?”

He ignores this. “If you have time this afternoon, my schedule is clear and we can leave early to get this process started.”

She pulls up her calendar. “I don’t have anything pressing. See, this is why I asked you for your help in the first place. Maybe you should have said _of course_ instead of telling me you weren’t going to help.”

“I didn’t think you were going to lose your temper quite _that_ quickly.” He settles back into his chair, folding his arms across his chest. 

Kryn shakes her head. “Do you need to make an appointment with this mysterious armorsmith?”

“No. I’ve already talked to Talieste; my warsuit needs to be checked before this mission and we may as well kill two toko with one stone. She’ll see us this afternoon.”

Kryn watches him over the top of her caf cup long enough that he knows whatever it is she’s going to say is likely going to be insulting. “I don’t want spikes on my armor. They seem dreadfully useless.”

“Your armor will be tailored to you and your mission and your combat style,” he says with a patience he doesn’t entirely feel. “Talieste excels at her work.”

“So _serious_ all the time.” Kryn grins, then stands. “I don’t doubt that she’s talented, or you wouldn’t trust her with yours, now would you? Was there anything else?”

“No. You’ll inform me when you hear from Atroxa and Callidus?”

“You know I will. I’ll see you when it’s time to go.”

[4]  
Laigoss Defense is a seven story shop tucked into a back corner of the Citadel District, its old style sign a holdover from when Jovkyl Laigoss first opened his business in 1164. Kryn peers in the large windows as they pass the front of the store, silently appreciating the armor set out for display. “You just passed the door.”

Marr, bearing a large, heavy crate, slows his steps and looks from the nearby alley to the front door. “I use the private entrance back here, but ….” He reconsiders. “It’s your first time here and you should get an idea of the kind of armor she creates. We can use the front.”

A bell rings somewhere in the building as the door slides open, and a tall woman with a steely gaze emerges from a back room, dusting her hands off on her pants. Her ebony hair is woven into braids and wrapped around her head, and Kryn finds herself having to actively avoid staring at the woman’s bared, incredibly defined arms.

“My lords.” The woman stops a respectful distance from the two Sith and inclines her head, then casts an analytical eye over Kryn. “Talieste Laigoss. We’ll need to go over what you need to do in the armor, Darth Nox, and meld that with how best to protect you on this mission. Please follow me; we’ll get the basics out of the way first.” She pauses with one foot on the stairs. “Darth Marr, I assume you haven’t catastrophically damaged yours since that business with Revan?”

“I wore it on a retrieval mission that went south, but it should only require minor repairs.”

The stairs open up on a bright studio. A large workbench dominates one wall. Two large dressing rooms are in the back of the room, armor samples are mounted over the workbench, and a drawing board is set into one corner of the room. Sketches of armor designs paper the walls, and miniature holos of previous work stand on the windowsills, slowly rotating in an endless display.

“If there’s damage to the internal systems, you know the repairs are going to take longer; I’ll have to call in my specialists. Superficial scoring, I can have that done in a few days. What’s my timeline?”

Marr sets the case down near one of the dressing rooms and exchanges a glance with Kryn, who shrugs. “Three weeks at the absolute minimum. It will be longer, but I don’t have set figures on it yet.”

Talieste’s mouth thins into a scant line. “I can make that work, though it’s going to be tight with the extra work. When you get your set dates, I’ll need to know.”

Kryn grins at Marr. “I’m greatly entertained by the fact you’re going to go change into what you’re already wearing.” She laughs outright when his only response is shutting the changing room door behind him.. 

“What sort of armor do you normally utilize, Darth Nox?” Talieste settles herself onto the stool behind the drawing board. “I would prefer to stay with a style you are accustomed to and simply provide more protection.”

Kryn pointedly ignores the derogatory _harumph_ from the other side of the room. “My preference has always been robes; they give me the mobility I need and plenty of protection because I make it a point to not get within range of lightsabers. However, given where we’re going and what we’re going to need, I just need something that isn’t so heavy it throws me off.” A pause, and she raises her voice just a bit. “And no useless spikes.”

Talieste has her head bent over her drawing board, but Kryn is certain she sees the beginning of a smile quirk the other woman’s mouth as her pen moves across a sheet of flimsy in quick, swooping strokes. “Skirts are out. So are capes. Impractical and too much of a liability should you end up in a melee situation.”

“I can feel your disappointed pout from here, Nox,” Marr says, unable - _unwilling_ , more accurately - to keep the smugness out of his voice.

“I’ll use Marr’s armor as a template,” Talieste continues, “and use the same in-suit environmental and healing systems, but I’m going to eliminate a few of the more aesthetic features so you’re not just running around in a copy of his.” She pulls up a holo of the design for his armor. “We’ll keep the boots. Smaller pauldrons, but we’ll compensate for that with the armorweave undersuit. Lighter, more flexible gauntlets. What’s the main danger? Blasters? Sabers?”

“Bites.”

Talieste looks up from her sketch, giving Kryn a look fairly dripping with skepticism. “Bites. Creature bites? Rancors?”

“We’re not sure yet. But if it can block rancors we’re probably good.”

“All right.” A few more lines, and she holds up the sketch. “Something like this. Three weeks is going to be pushing the integration of the suit’s systems, but I should have it done. Climate?”

Kryn makes a face. “Hoth.”

Talieste makes a note as Marr joins them. “Need to recalibrate Marr’s, too,” she mutters to herself. “I can start this today if it meets with your approval, my lord. How much hair do you need to fit in your helm?” She whistles when Kryn reaches up and unpins her hair, sending it tumbling nearly to her waist. “I can _probably_ make it work if you can put it in a tight braid and pin it to your head. Otherwise -” She lifts the mass of red waves. “Otherwise if you want this helm to fit well, my lord, you’ll have to cut it. Honestly, it’s going to be dicey even in braids.”

Kryn hasn’t cut her hair in years, and Marr likes to play with it whenever they’re relaxing at home, so she isn’t entirely sure if the twinge of disappointment she feels is hers, his, or a little bit of both. “Then it’s gone,” she says without hesitation. “No point in making the helm useless.”

The armorsmith nods with satisfaction. “Good. I’d recommend chin length or shorter.” She pauses for a moment. “I know that’s most of your hair, my lord, but it’s my job to ensure your armor does what it needs to do.” She lays the sketch back on the drawing board and stands. “Let’s look at this armor.”

He crosses to a wide open space near the workbench, assuming an informal stance. Talieste pulls out a datapad and slowly circles him, conducting a first cursory inspection. “Is this the warsuit mask or the everyday?”

“Warsuit. It’s functioning properly, but if you need to look at it I can swap them.”

Kryn takes a seat on one of the stools lining the wall. “What’s the difference between the two?”

“The suit as a whole is more technologically advanced, something not really required when one spends endless time at the Citadel. The mask is no exception, monitoring the various systems and providing that information in a continual feed.”

“How fancy!” Kryn exclaims. “And here I just thought it was all so you could make faces at Ravage without getting caught.”

Talieste continues to examine the armor, tapping notes into her datapad before she tilts his head to the side to look at the blaster scoring along his neck. “Shot in the neck, really?” She scowls, and the taps on the datapad become angry. “Glad I tested this new armorweave before I gave it to you, but I can see some corrections I can make. If I have time I’m going to replace this. Can you leave it here?”

“Of course.”

A notification chimes on Marr’s wrist and in Kryn’s pocket; she pulls out her datapad and peruses the message. “Atroxa and Callidus have their teams ready. They’re sending twenty-five people. Accounting for travel time, they estimate the advance mission will take eighteen days. They plan on departing within the hour.”

“Two _weeks_ planetside? Explanation?”

“Callidus is insistent they find samples for this healing prototype, which I agree with. Atroxa wants as much of the grunt work out of the way as possible, so the main mission isn’t dealing with avoidable delays.”

“Armor and protection?”

Kryn skims the message again. “Says they’ve followed the guideline you sent Atroxa?”

“Good.” He goes through a familiar series of motions as Talieste watches him with a critical eye. “Darth Nomas is working on an armor coating specifically for this mission, Laigoss. I’ll have her deliver a batch of it to you.”

“Sooner rather than later. I need to see how it interacts with my armor.” Talieste holds her hand up in a _stop_ gesture. “Range of motion fine?”

“Yes.” He eyes the wall. “Do you have samples available to send to her? That would be more efficient.”

Talieste ponders as she marks her last few notes. “Yes. I have some discards upstairs. I’ll have them delivered to her today.”

“This also means your timeline got longer,” Kryn adds. “I’d like to depart shortly after the advance team returns. Do you need more than four weeks?”

“No, my lord. I’m still shooting for three, which gives us some leeway if something goes wrong.” She makes a shooing motion at Marr. “Empty armor stands are in the back. You know the routine, my lord.”

Marr nods and disappears back into the changing room, reappearing in short order in his everyday armor. He arranges the warsuit on the armor stand, then rejoins the two women. “Darth Nox, we need to finalize the strike team meeting schedule. Final word, anything that changes after the advance party returns, supply and gear checks.”

Kryn nods. “Let’s get that done, then. Was there anything else you needed from me, Talieste?”

“No, my lord. I received your payment before our appointment. There shouldn’t be a cost overrun, but if there is I’ll send you the corrected invoice and justifications.” She beckons toward the stairs and follows the two Sith back down to the main showroom. “I should have the armor itself ready for a fitting in a week. Once that’s done, we’ll get the tech added and then make sure everything plays nice together.”

“Excellent. I will adjust my schedule around your availability. I look forward to working with you.” As the door closes behind them, Kryn quirks an eyebrow at Marr. 

“What?”

“Funny,” Kryn muses as she circles around the speeder. “I don’t remember paying this woman I hadn’t met until an hour ago.”

“I took care of it,” he says, starting the engine after she’s settled into the passenger seat. “Consider it a belated birthday present, since you were otherwise indisposed at the time.” Kryn had been on the Wrath’s shuttle and deep in the throes of possession on her birthday this year, and though she’d breathlessly proclaimed their countertop reunion sex a superlative offering, he’d been on the lookout for a proper gift for almost a month.

She waits until he’s pulled into the swiftly flowing lane of traffic to let her hand drift to his thigh. “Thank you.” She eyes him a little too long, a little too knowingly, until he shifts his weight in his seat. “So, just for my birthday, then.”

“I’d prefer not to watch you march into this with anything less than full protection.” He knows he sounds stilted, can tell she hears it, too. “You already know your unwillingness to accept how much danger you might be in bothers me. I will never tell you you shouldn’t do something -”

“That’s good.” She grins at him. “Didn’t work out so well for you the last time you tried that.”

He nods. “I handled that exceptionally poorly. And now here we are, and you’re getting your way anyway. But you placed me in charge of the mission defenses, and part of that duty is ensuring you don’t start this mission with sub-par equipment.”

“Ahh, birthday and _duty_ ,” she repeats, a too-solemn look on her face. “Now it makes sense. Is that all?”

He keys in a code, waits until the shield protecting the garage drops, and pulls the speeder in, the shimmering violet-blue wall reactivating as he turns off the vehicle. “What are you driving at, Kryn?”

She saunters over to the inside door, wagging her eyebrows as she keys in the door code. “I just want to hear you say it, that’s all.”

“Say what, that I worry about you?” He sweeps her up into his arms as the door closes behind them, pausing as she deftly removes his mask. “Of course I do. You’re foolhardy. Reckless. Incorrigible. You get your kicks flinging yourself at every challenge that looks at you sideways.” He drags a fingertip along the thin scar on her forearm. “You mouth off to people that want nothing more than to kill you.”

“I see. So I should become a proper high society Sith, nose in the air, more concerned with parties and having children I can farm out to eligible families?” She snorts. 

“Absolutely not. I knew exactly who you were when I fell in love with you.” His face is alight with mischief, shifting her so she’s sitting on his arm, her legs around his waist. “One of the benefits of getting the full, unvarnished Darth Nox for nearly two years.”

“I told you - more than once, I might add - that you just weren’t seeing the gift my refreshing attitude really was.” She leans forward and kisses his cheek.

“ _Gift_ might still be stretching it. But I think you can do all those things while being smart about it.” His steps slow as his returning kiss lengthens. “You can let me consider the boring parts … like armor.” He deposits her in the center of the room, his hands moving over his armor with the swiftness of long practice. “And part of me will worry, because my life would be intolerably boring without you.”

She turns from where she’s deposited his mask on the desk, discarding her elegant, embroidered black robes. “I know.” By the time she reaches him, he’s divested himself of everything but his armorweave trousers. “If Ziost, Vitiate, Acina, and a bunch of dead, angry Sith can’t keep me from you, there likely isn’t much that can.” She laces her fingers with his and tugs him toward the ‘fresher. “You handle the boring things for me, and I’ll handle the fun things for you. Fair?”

“I would say that’s an equitable arrangement.”

[5]  
Kryn has cleared out her front offices in preparation for the strike team meeting, putting all the desks and sample tables into storage, and the end result is a space large enough to accommodate all thirty-four team members, with enough room left over for them to conduct the close combat trials once the initial briefing has concluded.

Rictus’ assassins, all Umbarans with clean-shaven heads, stand in a straight line along the far wall, their robes black as midnight, their pale skin nearly pallid under the overhead lights. The other team members have formed loose groups, mainly from their own spheres, and Marr lingers by Kryn’s office door, arms folded, silently observing the proceedings.

Everyone quiets down when Kryn steps to the front of the room and surveys the crowd of people, then checks her chrono. “Excellent. We can get started early. Has everyone received their copy of the mission order?” When there are nods all around, she continues. “Good. You all know why we’re here, and what your particular role in this mission is. If you could all form into your teams?”

In short order, four groups are arranged in front of her. 

“Team leads, with me.”

Talos, Ashara, and a Nikto barely taller than Kryn separate from the group, coming to stand beside her. “I will be leading Team Aurek. Captain Drellik will be leading Team Besh. Team Cresh is under the direction of Lord Zavros, and Team Dorn will be following Darth Axon. Darth Soma is leading the Shadow Knights, correct?”

The tallest of the Umbarans, a woman with a gaunt, humorless face, nods. “Yes, my lord.”

“If you have a problem arise that will in _any_ way impede your efficiency on this mission, bring it to your team leader’s attention immediately. They will either handle it, or bring it to me. Now, before we get into the combat assessment, I’d like to -”

She stops when the office door slides open, revealing Darth Callidus. His face is pinched, mouth pressed into a thin line as he strides across the office toward Kryn. She beckons the other team leaders back to their squads, then turns to the Pureblood. “Callidus? What is it? Has the advance party already returned?”

“No. But you need to see this.” He looks around the room, holding up a datacard.

Kryn holds out her hand. “Here.” She inserts the card into a reader in the wall, the display - a recording from someone’s helm - flickering to life on the opposite wall.

 _.… Beyond the focus area of the holocam,_ something moves, blurry and unidentifiable. First one shadow, then another, then enough to make the background seem as if it’s writhing.

Centered on the picture is a Cathar, Lord Xisax Khulit, prone on the ground, pain and fear warring on his face as he waves frantically at whoever is wearing the holocam. “Hiralru, take that last sample and go!” He looks off camera, pleading with someone unseen. “Jyshira, listen. It’s me! Jyshira, I _know_ you’re in there, I know you don’t want to do this!” He fumbles at his belt, scowling when he realizes his saber is gone. “Don’t make me kill you! Hiralru, _go_! The mission is most important!”

A hesitant step, and then there are hands coming around from behind the holo lens, scarred and wounded and weeping fluids, fumbling at it, and then it’s tumbling downward as Hiralru flings her helm off. It bounces on the ground, aimed up at a Chiss woman frantically shoving off two attackers, her face twisted in terror, blasters drawn. She fires a volley at one and boots away the second; after one last look cast in Xisax’s direction, she runs, disappearing into the darkness.

Someone - or some _thing_ \- kicks the helm, and after several nauseating spins it stops, Xisax barely visible on the far left. Advancing on him from the other end of the frame is Lord Jyshira Khulit, his wife, her beautiful fur matted and clumped. Her shoulder hangs at an unnatural angle, her gait almost limping. She stops, teeth bared in a rictus grin, then opens her mouth wider than should be possible, an earsplitting scream rending the air as she launches herself at him. A flying gobbet of blood obscures the lens as other creatures advance from behind the camera. There’s a crunch, _and the image disappears ...._

The room falls into horrified stillness.

Kryn can’t seem to close her mouth, staring at the screen. She barely hears Pierce’s _what the fuck was that_ from somewhere in the second group. “How many losses, Callidus? We sent twenty-five on that advance party.”

“Hiralru is the only survivor,” he says dully. “She made it to one of the ships and is on her way back. She contacted me when she was off-world.”

Kryn doesn’t miss the gasps from two people - an older male Pureblood with shoulder length ebony hair and a young-looking male Mirialan with a shaved head. She makes a note on her datapad to speak to them after the meeting even as Marr is already consulting his copy of the operational parameters, already looking at recalibrating them if required. “Does she have the samples you needed? This mission will be a lot more complicated without them.”

Callidus nods. “She says they found three, all of which are secured. She’ll be back to Dromund Kaas in three days.” He scrubs his hands over his face and turns to face the assembled teams. “I would prepare for casualties. We don’t know the state of the advance team, but it’s safe to assume they’re dead or infected. At least the question of whether there are still active plaguebearers has been answered. Better that’s known than unknown.”

“Agreed.” Marr backs up the recording, taps on the area behind Xisax. “Get a copy of this to Tenere. See if they can give us a rough estimate of how many creatures are back there.”

Callidus takes the datacard after Kryn retrieves it. “I’ll have her contact you today.” He looks over the teams, points at a human woman in the first group. “Luxanor, we’re working around the clock when Hiralru returns. It’s imperative we have something in place for this.”

She inclines her head. “Yes, my lord.”

The door closes behind Callidus, leaving the group of Imperials talking amongst themselves. The conversations die out as Marr strides to the front of the room, taking his place next to Kryn. “There is no backing out of this mission, if any of you were so inclined,” he says, steel in his voice. “And that recording is classified Imperial intelligence. Do _not_ speak of it to anyone outside this room. Am I clear?”

Murmurs of assent rise, then fall away.

“It is _crucial_ that you have the proper armor,” he continues, “but that alone will not save you. You cannot drop your guard. You cannot be lax. You must accept, now, that your death may come. We are not driven by fear, and we will not fold before a simple plague engineered by a mad Sith. The needs of the Empire are greater than any one life, yours _or_ mine, and Vitiate must be stopped at all costs. You have all seen what we are up against.”

He looks at Kryn, who nods almost imperceptibly before stepping off to the side. 

“We will begin the combat trials now. The team leads will be tested first; the rest of you move to the edges of the room.” His hand drops to his saber. “Ready yourself, Darth Nox.”


	43. Gloaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Personal loose ends are tied up, and the mission to search for Darth Aiis' relic gets underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _A note on academies:_  
>  There's a reference in this chapter to multiple Sith academies, because there's just no way there are that many beings in the galaxy, that many Force sensitives ... and one academy (or even just two). My view of it is that Korriban is considered the _elite_ academy - children in elevated bloodlines are sent there, as well as people who are found to be surprisingly strong in the Force. In Kryn's case, Crisan pushed to send her there (and possibly called in favors) with the idea that either Kryn would acquit herself well and elevate Crisan's social standing, or Kryn would be killed (of course, then "proving" that aliens shouldn't be Sith). Other academies, while they'll follow the same general curriculum, will have specialties. Odacer-Faustin's was history, thus its extensive library, irreparably damaged by the consequences of Darth Scabrous' pursuit of immortality.

[1]  
Marr examines his checklist one more time, adding desultory notes here and there. With so many operations under his belt, most on a much larger scale, this particular habit has been rendered mostly obsolete, but he enjoys the routine, the final rundown of mission and logistics and equipment. Satisfied, he taps the holocom seated on the edge of his desk and Bryasere, her attention focused downward, shimmers to life.

“My lord.”

“Second, whatever you’re working on can wait. I would speak with you before this operational meeting.”

She looks up and nods. “On my way.” 

Her hologram disappears, and his door slides open a moment later, admitting Bryasere and a wave of noise from the outer office. It closes behind her as she strides across the open space, stopping a scant three steps from the desk before she inclines her head. “You wished to speak with me, Darth Marr?”

“Yes.” He motions to the two empty chairs then waits for her to sit down, touches a button on his desk, and takes the datacard that’s ejected. “As you are aware, Second, no Imperial’s life is set above the Empire’s continued existence and growth. It is why we excise those among us whose impulses begin to affect our efficiency. It is why no one, not even the Council, are considered irreplaceable.”

Bryasere arches one brow in question, unsure what he’s driving at.

“If something happens to me on this mission, you are entrusted with the stewardship of the sphere until a replacement can be appointed.” He holds out the datacard. “This contains information for Darth Vowrawn, who will assume leadership of the Council in the event of my death.”

Bryasere takes the card, cupping it in one hand. “Do you think that’s a possibility, my lord?”

“I prepare for as many possibilities as I can, Second. The sphere and the Council cannot be left to instability and chance. This academy possesses a number of unknown factors, but if there is any chance this artifact is there, it is our duty to recover it, as well as any of our writings that may still be intact.”

“Yes, my lord.” She studies the card for a moment, turning it over in her hand. “Should you not return, I will carry out my duties to the fullest of my ability. But I don’t believe this academy will be your end. And I don’t believe Darth Nox would allow -” _you_ , she thinks, though it remains unspoken on the tip of her tongue as she regards him steadily, considering the possible ramifications of admitting she knows more than she’s let on. In the end, she settles for a calculated pause that allows for tacit denial on both sides. “A … fellow Councilor to die on this operation.” 

“Darth Nox is aware of the primacy of the mission,” Marr says after a lengthy moment spent debating whether to acknowledge the conversation taking place between the lines.

She nods. “As you say, my lord. But she is just as aware as you of the importance of duty to the Empire, and perhaps believes you’d be of more use running this sphere than dead on some frozen rock.” There’s a bare flash of mischief in her eyes. “I know you don’t like meetings, my lord, but dying on Odacer-Faustin is a bit of an overreaction when you could simply send me in your stead. I’ve served as your Second for nearly ten years now; I’m quite well-versed in the ins and outs of this sphere. I can hold my own with shouting Darths.”

This time he chuckles outright. “I know you can, but I have no wish to face your ire for interrupting you.” He stands, and Bryasere does the same. “I don’t plan on meeting my end on this mission, but if I do, I know the sphere is in excellent hands.”

Bryasere bows, more deeply than she has in years. “You honor me, my lord.” She straightens, a too-serious expression on her face. “Please don’t forget to submit your after-action report when you return. I would prefer not to have a repeat of the wrangling after the final battle with the Revanites.”

She’d been on him for that damn report for weeks after he’d returned, and he’d had no one to blame but himself; it had been his directive that all major operations have said reports filed within a week of their conclusion. She’d made no secret of the pleasure she’d derived from bothering him for it, either, quoting _they don’t take that long to compose, there is no excuse_ right back at him. That skillful manipulation of the line between assertive and insubordinate is just one of the many reasons his first note to Vowrawn on that datacard recommends Bryasere be promoted to the Council in the event of his death.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t make an effort to keep the tartness out of his voice. “Noted, Second.” He picks up his datapad, and they cross the office. “I cleared out as much of my schedule as possible, but I’ve sent you the remaining mandatory meetings. One is a tertiary budget meeting; expect no less than four hours in that one. I’ve updated the budget request file, so you’ll just need to choose which funds you want to press for. The others are self-explanatory and shouldn’t take nearly as long.” The office door whispers closed behind them. “If you have any last minute questions, we’re not leaving for four days. You may return to your work.”

[2]  
Kryn’s office, still devoid of most of its furniture, is operating at something approaching a dull roar by the time Marr arrives. To his surprise, Atroxa is in a back corner, scowling at a datapad and barking orders into the comlink on her wrist. Three of the team leads and more than a few team members are examining the reconnaissance holos. Two of the archivists have their heads bent over an old and undoubtedly outdated map of the facility, sent by one of Darth Aruk’s people. Kryn’s Dashade companion is looming over Andronikos, both of them last minute team additions - the pirate over Marr’s strenuous objections, all of which were dismissed by Kryn with a firm _I know Andronikos and we can trust him, end of discussion_ \- and slated to provide added security for the base camp.

Near the door to Kryn’s personal office, a short, lithe woman with close-cropped flame-red hair and fitted black armor is talking to Lieutenant Pierce and Lord Linaera Tsurai, hand on her hip as she tilts her head upward to look at the pair, who tower over her. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s Kryn herself, he’s so used to seeing her in lavishly embroidered robes and the occasional lofty headdress.

Talieste has designed Kryn’s armor with both the mission and Kryn’s personal style in mind, covering her in black armorweave from the neck down, providing the base for similarly black durasteel armor that’s lightweight enough to not impede her movements. Her boots, armored and reaching past her knees, are etched with sigils he vaguely remembers from some of his history classes, as are her gauntlets and her pauldrons. A plethora of pouches and pockets and space for gadgets line the wide belt that circles her trim waist, its buckle matte black like the rest of the armor. Her helm, braced under one arm, is much more close-fitting than her others, with a crown of short spikes along the top - intimidating in design, large enough to see, small enough to not disturb things around her when they’re in close spaces.

She’s dressed like a warrior scholar, beautiful and lethal, and he swallows hard, grateful that his own armor hides the way he’s staring at her, hides his hammering pulse, hides the sudden desire sweeping his veins. And she’s leading this last meeting - which is almost a mere formality at this point - so he can stand in the back, look intimidating, and spend his time watching her.

Kryn’s shorter than every other strike team member, but what she lacks in stature she makes up for in personality, pacing within the half-circle formed by the rest of the strike teams as she runs through the mission timeline one last time, outlining initial defenses and contingency plans and the other three teams’ missions, to be conducted while Team Aurek searches for the artifact.

Kryn surveys the group, approval on her face. “The teams have come together well since our first meeting three weeks ago. Your commitment in the face of certain yet unidentified threats have shown why you were selected for this mission in the first place. Everyone’s armor has passed inspection. Everyone’s combat ability has been tested and found acceptable by no less an authority than Darth Marr. All that remains is to make any final personal preparations and depart in four days’ time.” 

She pauses, contemplative. “When the historians write of this, they will write of your unflinching courage, of your dedication, of your unswerving service to the Empire.” She makes a shooing motion toward the door. “Dismissed. I will see you all at the hangar in four days’ time. Do not be late.”

Kryn turns to speak with Atroxa as everyone else, save Marr, begins exiting the room. “Automated defenses ready?”

The Twi’lek nods. “Everything is being transported to your hangar today for you to disburse to your ships as you see fit. You're taking two?”

“Three. Two transports for the main team complements, and one shuttle.”

Atroxa nods. “Good. You'll want to keep that artifact separate. If you require anything else, contact me immediately.”

“I will.” Kryn watches Atroxa leave, then turns her attention to Marr. “Something you need, Darth Marr? You’ve been loitering in the back of the room since the meeting started.” Without waiting to see if he's following, she heads into her office.

He's right behind her, closing the door. “I have one last thing to take care of,” he says as Kryn gathers datacards and flimsy off her desk. “I’m going to be off-world until the morning of the departure. Most of it will be travel time; I’ll have just one day planetside.”

“Oh?” She’s burning with curiosity, but if he’d wanted to tell her where he’s going, he’d have done so when he brought it up. “When are you leaving?”

He looks at his chrono. “I still need to pack, but I planned on arriving at the spaceport within two hours of leaving here.”

She nods. “All right. Are you going to be reachable during those three days?”

“I’ll have my holocom with me.”

“You’re not going far,” she muses, “if you’re only going to be gone three days.” It’s as close as she’s willing to get to asking him outright where he’s going and what he’s doing.

“No. Just to my family’s mausoleum on Korriban.”

This is not what she'd been expecting, and she gives him a quizzical look. “Do you often spend time in mausoleums?”

“I make a point of visiting before any major operation, in addition to my traditional yearly trip. It’s important that I take the opportunity, in case it ends up being the last.”

Her mouth presses into a thin line. “But this _won’t_ be the last,” she says, her jaw tight. They’ve stopped talking about their necessary precautions in the face of Kryn’s adamant insistence that they’re both coming back, driven by the spectre of guilt over the deaths of the advance party and the possibility that this mission could mean the end of one or both of them.

He brushes his thumb across her chin. “Regardless, I must do this, Kryn.”

She studies him for a moment, then sighs and sets the flimsy in her hands aside, her face solemn. “I understand. I would do the same with Fardon and Sai’rah if I could.”

He surveys the chaos on her desk. “What do you have left to do before we depart for Odacer-Faustin?”

“Nothing, really. This meeting was the last thing.” She drops a few more datacards into a pouch on her belt. “This is just a lot of busywork I’m trying to get a jump on, since we’re not sure how long we’ll be gone.”

“Leave it. Come with me to Korriban, _qilitzarai_.”

Her eyebrows arch toward her hairline in genuine surprise. “What? No, this is a personal thing for you. I can keep myself entertained for three days.” She gives him a look of reproach. “If you’re concerned about your kitchen, I promise I’ll only eat takeout.”

“Kryn.” He gestures at the door and waits until the lock engages, then removes his mask. “I know this is personal for me. But I would share it with you, if you wish to accompany me.”

“Of course I will.” She reaches up, tugs on the edge of his hood until he bends down far enough for her to kiss his cheek. “I can’t believe you’d say that like I’m going to tell you no.”

“Are we pretending you don’t take undue delight,” he murmurs against her skin, trailing kisses along her jawline until the tension melts out of it, “in telling me no for a myriad number of things?”

“Not for _important_ things.” She takes a deep breath, then steps away from him. “If we’re going to make it to the spaceport in a timely manner and both still need to pack, we should get going.”

[3]  
Korriban is well-known in the galaxy at large for being home to the most elite of the Empire’s Sith academies and the tombs of ancient Sith from throughout the order’s turbulent history, but it’s also home to the remains of Sith from the Empire as it currently exists, interred in sprawling necropolises that dot the surface of the planet. Each has stately lodgings nearby, built by the finest craftsmen in the Empire, with scenes from the history of the Sith carved in sharp relief on the walls.

Kryn meanders around the lobby inspecting the art and statuary while Marr speaks with the receptionist, hands over a credit chip, and receives a room code in return. She runs her hand along the wrought metal decorating the walls of the lift as it makes its way to the tenth floor. “They’re shorter buildings than I expected after Kaas City, but they’re _beautiful_.”

“The topmost floor, the tenth, is suites. They’re generally reserved for Council members or the occasional visiting dignitary. It can also be set up to house extended family members if a gathering for funeral proceedings is large enough.” A dulcet _ding_ , and the door opens on an ornately appointed hallway. He smiles at Kryn’s low, appreciative whistle. “The buildings are maintained by the Ministry of Culture through funds in their budget and the profits from the buildings themselves.”

He stops in front of a door marked 5A, punches in the security code the front desk attendant had given him. The door opens silently and whispers closed behind Kryn. She examines the living room, decorated in deep red and cream and various golden hues, as she follows Marr into the bedroom.

“We made good time getting out of the capital.” He pulls black trousers, a black tunic embroidered with rich gold thread, and a hooded cloak out of his travel bag, then crosses to the closet. “We could probably make the trip tonight and then head back, if you’re so inclined.”

Kryn shakes her head as she extracts one of her dresses from her suitcase, a little-worn black and gold gown more demure than her usual style. She hangs it in the closet, then scoops up an oversize black bag. “There’s no need to rush so much,” she says as she disappears into the ‘fresher, returning empty-handed. “It’s a bit of a drive from here, about an hour, but some new restaurants I’ve heard good things about have opened in Dreshdae, and the speeder you rented has a roof so we won’t get covered in sand and won’t freeze on the trip. Why don’t we go to dinner tonight, and then head into the necropolis tomorrow?”

“I hope this isn’t someplace like Celestia.” He sets nondescript black armor on the bed, followed by the respirator, then deposits his empty bag on the far side of the bedside table. “I didn’t bring anything that fancy this time.”

“In _Dreshdae_? Now you’re just being silly. It has some nice places, but none of them come close to some of the more posh places in the capital.” She pulls out a swath of deep plum fabric, then flicks her hand at the ‘fresher before turning her attention to the buckles on her shoes. “That black armor you brought will suffice. Go on.”

When he emerges a few minutes later, towel slung low around his hips, Kryn’s wrapped herself in the purple cloth, leaving most of her back and an angled portion of her stomach exposed, loose skirt falling from her hips to the floor, the remainder of the cloth tossed over her left shoulder. It looks complicated, but after studying it for a moment he can see where he could pull on one section and the entire outfit would come unraveled in his hands.

Kryn pauses midway through tying on a gauzy plum eyecovering. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late for that,” he murmurs, bending to press a lingering kiss between her bared shoulder blades. “First the armor yesterday, now this?” He skims one hand along the length of cloth just begging for him to pull it. “All I’d have to do is -”

She lays one hand over his and turns, splaying the other on his bare chest. “Get dressed and let’s go; I’m starving.” He grumbles and takes a step back; her mouth turns up in a smile as she watches him discard the towel. “The sooner we go, the sooner we get back, you know.”

[4]  
They spend a leisurely hour on the balcony late the next morning, talking about little of consequence over breakfast before getting ready to head into the nearby necropolis.

Kryn untwists one of the long sleeves on her ebony dress, adjusting the delicate gold lace cuffs before reaching for her hair out of habit. She makes a face and smooths down the back. “I wonder how long it’s going to be before I quit trying to style hair that isn’t there anymore.” Something catches her gaze when Marr turns toward the closet to get his shoes. “Hold on.” 

“Hmm?” 

He watches in the full length mirror as she circles around him and brushes at a spot on the back of his shirt. “Brushed up against your shoes, I think,” she says. “Or that armor. Just dust or lint or something; it’s gone.” She taps his still-loose cuffs. “Let me.”

Her skin is warm against his, and he doesn’t mention that he could have done that himself, holding out first one wrist, then the other, watching her fasten the two rows of gold buttons. “Thank you.” He slips his shoes on, then attaches his lightsaber to his belt and sets his cloak on his shoulders before picking hers up and draping it over one arm. “Ready?”

She slides a black jeweled clip onto her belt, buckles it, and attaches her own saber before motioning for her cloak. He steps past her outstretched hand and drapes it across her shoulders, fastening the gold clasp. She tugs on his and waits for him to bend down, then cups his face and kisses him. “Ready. Oh! Hang on.” She reaches behind him and pulls his hood up. “Can’t have people actually _looking_ at you,” she says as she pats his cheek. “I hear that ends poorly for them.”

“Someday, _qilitzarai_ , you’re going to run out of these impertinent comments.” He follows her out of the room, re-entering the security code after the door closes.

She chuckles outright as they wait for the lift. “You and I both know that’s just wishful thinking on your part.”

They nod at the day’s desk clerk as they depart; soon the speeder is gliding past increasingly large, ornate buildings, and he comes to a stop in a wide parking area. “We can walk from here. It’s not far.”

True to his word, they’re only walking for about ten minutes before he stops in front of an imposing, severe building built out of black stone, noticeably more austere in design than the ones around it. “If you ever begin studying the history of architecture within the Empire,” Marr says when Kryn points this out, pausing at the door, “a necropolis is one of the best places to see each era’s design preferences put into practice, though there are always exceptions. Ours was completed in 1068, when sculpture was becoming increasingly popular, but as you’ve observed, we’re one of the outliers.”

“Do you know why?”

He shrugs. “By all accounts, Grandfather Hadrianus was a very serious man with no use for frivolity. To put it politely.”

She nudges him, a small smile on her face. “Sounds familiar. Didn’t know that was an inherited trait.” She takes a step back and looks up at the name carved into the archway, the Kittât inlaid with gold. Kryn examines it for a long moment, mentally translating the runes. “Kallan?” she asks, a note of uncertainty in her voice. 

He’s pleased; the effort she’s been putting into her language studies is beginning to pay off, if she’s already remembering runes that well. “That’s correct.”

She joins him on the top step. “Matthius Kallan,” she muses. “The name suits you.”

“I should hope so; I’ve had it for quite awhile,” he says, amused. “Even if I haven’t used it in years.”

Kryn lays her hand on his before he unlocks the door. “Do I need to know anything before we go in?”

“No.” He keys in the code, and the door slides open. “I simply meditate for a time.”

She follows him through the open door, touching the panel behind her to close it as lights flicker on. A plush length of cloth, just wide enough to accommodate a kneeling person, runs the length of the mausoleum. Urns of varying shapes and styles are set into recesses in the walls, with an engraved plate below each bearing a name and two dates, birth and death. Two walls are completely full, as is a quarter of the next, but the rest are empty. 

The last two urns, marked _Aulus Hadrianus Kallan_ and _Katina Liadan Sorge Kallan_ , bear death dates four days apart. “Your parents?” He nods as he settles onto the black cloth, and something about the year jogs her memory. “That was during the Battle of Bothawui,” she says, folding into a meditative position next to him.

“It was. I was already a Councilor, my connections to my family line eight years gone from Imperial records. I found out about their deaths in the daily casualty reports being sent to the Council.” Regret is faint but present in his voice. “The funeral arrangements were handled by a cousin, and conducted while I was still on the battlefield. I wasn’t able to pay my respects properly until after the treaty was signed.”

He falls silent and she follows suit, determined to breathe normally past the tightness in her chest as she imagines coming out here again, but this time she’s alone and there’s a new urn on the wall, its date scant days from now.

She simply will not allow that to happen.

The sun has dropped noticeably lower in the sky when they emerge, and she waits until he’s locked the door again before she speaks. “Can we walk?”

“Of course.” Instead of turning back toward the speeder, they turn toward the center of the necropolis. “Something is weighing on your mind. Tell me.”

She loops her arm around his. “I know the other times we - well, _you_ \- have tried to talk about this, it didn’t go well. My position hasn’t changed; you are not dying on this mission. But if something happens to me ….”

He waits while she gathers her thoughts.

“Tell Raitlia -” She almost immediately shakes her head. “No, not Raitlia. Tell … hmm. Tell Rafana. She can handle everything and tell the others. I don’t have any fancy documents or anything, but everything that doesn’t go to the cost of arrangements can be divided between Andronikos, Talos, Xalek, and Ashara. And Khem, if he wants it.”

Marr nods. 

“I’m going to forget something.” She rakes her fingers across the short hair at her temple, trying to contain her agitation. “I would put my research project in your hands; it’s important to Semiri, I promised Scourge I would do everything in my power to help him, and I know I can trust you with the confidentiality of the project. And more in your wheelhouse, I’d appreciate it if you would oversee the rest of Xalek’s and Ashara’s training. They both recently became lords, as you know, but I’m sure they’ll go much farther.”

“I will.” He considers what he wants to say, weighs the benefits of broaching the subject again, realizing there won’t be another time and she has to know. “All I’m going to tell you in return is that there are two datacards in my center desk drawer upstairs. One is for you. The other is for the Judiciary, to dispense with legal matters.”

Her mouth presses into a thin line and her arm tightens on his, but she nods. “Very well.” She takes a deep breath, blows it out. Scowls up at him, though he can feel her relaxing. “There, that’s done. We had the talk. Satisfied?”

“Yes. Let’s go home. I’d like to sleep in our bed at least one night before we leave.”

She arches an eyebrow at him, familiar smirk quirking one corner of her mouth. “Oh, now you want to _sleep_ in our bed? That’s new.”

“I’m sure we’ll sleep in it eventually.”

[5]  
By unspoken agreement, Kryn and Marr have their caf in the rooftop garden the morning of the departure, tucked together on a carved bench Kryn had chosen during a recent shopping trip. Darkness still envelops the city, the street lights below fuzzy in the early morning mist, and it feels for all the world like it’s just the two of them, free of leadership and obligations, if only for this fleeting moment. When Marr speaks, it’s a low rumble, quiet and contemplative.

“For the first time in forty years, maybe more,” he murmurs, swirling the caf left in his cup, “my driving reason to return from a mission extends beyond my duty to the Empire. Imagine my surprise when I found myself enjoying this development. It’s sharpened my focus, kept me from becoming complacent.”

Kryn shifts her caf cup to her other hand and threads her fingers with his, pulling her legs up under her and resting her knees against his legs. “As if you’ve _ever_ been complacent in mission planning,” she says, her tone gently chiding as she nudges him with her shoulder. “I know you better than that.”

“Yes, but I’m also not treating it like every other operation I’ve been involved with. I will do everything in my power, short of allowing my personal feelings to compromise the objective, to ensure we both return.” He studies her face for a long moment, serious expression softening into a smile. “I love you, Kryn.”

“I love you, too, Matthius.” How woefully inadequate the words feel, she thinks, and how amusing it is that she was terrified of them a mere five months ago. She checks her chrono, then her empty cup. “It’s early, but shall we get ready?”

He takes her cup, sets it and his near his feet, then wraps an arm around her shoulders. “We can spare five more minutes.”

[6]  
The air on the landing zone and in the rapidly expanding base camp on Odacer-Faustin is energized as a work crew unloads the remainder of the automated defenses from the two transports. Team leaders are directing movements and setup. Tents have been erected and travel bags brought to each.

Kryn emerges from the _Fuliginous_ bearing a large trunk, pausing as she steps off the ramp. Marr comes to a stop beside her, carrying a chair and folding table. “What is it, Nox?”

Kryn keeps her eyes on the bustling camp. “You can admit you’re excited,” she says, resisting the urge to nudge him. “I can tell, you know.”

“So are you,” he murmurs. “You’ve done an admirable job of not gloating about getting your way.”

She makes a noncommittal noise. “I wasn’t expecting to lose so many of the advance team. Put a damper on my enthusiasm, I suppose. I’m more focused on making sure that doesn’t happen to the rest of the strike teams.”

“As it should be. The difference now is that we know what we’re facing. The only unknown is numbers.” Certainty colors his words. “We’ll keep the base camp fortified, our techs will keep communications running, and we’ll trust in our abilities and in the Force.”

Kryn nods as she takes a deep breath, calming her nerves, drawing on the confidence radiating from Marr. “Looks like the work crew is done. Let’s get this desk set up in the command tent and then we’ll pull everyone together for team assignments.”

He falls into step beside her as they crunch across the snow. “How are your environmental systems working? You’re giving them a pretty harsh stress test.”

“My internal temperature hasn’t dropped to anything unbearable, though it’ll be nice to get the heater set up so the tech isn’t working quite so hard around the clock.” Kryn ducks through the tent flap and waits until Marr unfolds the table and chair, then starts pulling things out of the crate she was carrying. 

Someone outside the tent clears their throat and raps smartly on the flap, waiting for Kryn to call “come in!” before pulling it back. Pierce slips into the tent, stopping just inside. “When you have a moment, my lord, I’d have a word?”

“I’m going to go check the perimeter defenses, Nox. I’ll join you for the team meeting.” Marr and Pierce shuffle around each other in the crowded space, and then Marr disappears through the tent flap. Pierce eyes the chaos around him, then shifts his weight onto one leg and folds his arms.

“Hey, Kryn, can I give you something?”

He sounds serious, despite using her name instead of her title, and her hands still as she shuffles through the box. “That depends, Pierce. What is it?”

He pulls a datacard out of a slim pouch on his belt. “Can you get this to the right people if something happens to me?” He turns it over in his hands. “Your sister will be good, and Quinn certainly doesn’t want anything from me, but I want to make sure Vette and Jaesa are taken care of. And there’s a letter for you.” His tone turns scolding. “But don’t go reading it unless I’ve bought the farm, you got it?”

She turns, her helm impassive, and Pierce doesn’t see how her lips thin to a scant line before she holds out her hand. “Of course. I assume your paperwork with the army is up to date, yes?”

He nods. “Yep. This is more covering my bases than anything else. Since you’re in charge of the op, I thought I should give it to you.” He sets it on her open gauntlet. “Thanks, Kryn. For this. For letting me come along. Been going stir-crazy sitting in the capital.”

She cocks her head, and he can hear the laughter in her voice. “I couldn’t very well tell you no; you _did_ beg. I honor my agreements.” She slides the datacard into a pouch of her own, then jerks her chin toward the entrance to the tent. “Get out of here, Lieutenant. Time for the last team meeting before we breach the Academy.”

Pierce exits the tent, holding the flap open for Kryn, and they join the rest of the teams in the center of the camp. Kryn holds up her hands for silence, and everyone turns toward her, putting away datapads and setting gear at their feet.

“Let’s get these team assignments out of the way,” she says, raising her voice to be heard over snapping tents and blustering wind. “Team Dorn.” The seven members separate themselves from the group. “You’re holding the base camp. All teams in the field will stay in contact with you. You’ll be categorizing, filing, and loading all artifacts and materials brought out of the academy. You’re responsible for maintaining our perimeter defenses, and you’ll be backup if we need it. Khem and Andronikos are providing extra security so you can focus on the task at hand, but stay alert.”

She scans the team. “Darth Axon,” she says, waiting as the Nikto takes a step forward. “I’m hoping we get a call from a contact in my research facility. I don’t know if it will come in while Aurek is searching the library, so I’m leaving this holocom with you.”

Axon takes the holocom, inclining her head. “I’ll have it on me at all times, Darth Nox.”

“Excellent. Teams Besh and Cresh.” This time, fourteen people arrange themselves at the front of the dwindling group. “I’m placing your two teams in charge of combing through the Academy proper, and the upper levels of the library. We can see the fire damage from here, and the collapsed tower, but the more hands we have working on bringing out what we can before this mission wraps up, the better. Archivists, capture holos of whatever we can’t bring back with us: training facilities, architecture, things of that nature. Team leads?”

Talos and Ashara step forward. 

“You don’t need much micromanagement from me. You know why we’re here and what we’re looking for. Use your judgment and initiative, and let’s bring as much of this back to the seat of the Empire as we can.”

They nod and rejoin their teams, and Kryn directs her attention to the remaining thirteen people, pausing as Marr joins them. “The assassins will divide evenly between Aurek, Besh, and Cresh, and Aurek will be coming with me. Our goal is the lower levels, the ones rarely accessed. If the artifact is anywhere in this academy, it’ll be in a repository far away from the prying eyes of students. We don’t know if it’s here, but if it is the Force will guide us to it. Darth Marr, how are the camp’s defenses?”

“Armed and operational.” He searches the group. “Darth Axon, your first order of business should be a camp watch roster. We cannot rely overmuch on turrets and droids. We’ve got open plain to our back, but I’d put at least three on watch each night, and don’t have everyone off working in tents at one time. We’re still unsure how the original camp was overrun.” 

Axon already has a datapad in hand. “Yes, Darth Marr. After this meeting, Dzemdri -” she indicates a Chiss woman near the front of the gathered teams, nothing visible on her scarf-wrapped head but her scarlet goggle-protected eyes, surrounded by deep blue skin “- is going to set up a new piece of sensor tech she developed, and every member of my team has been part of operations in various places in the Empire. We will not become complacent.”

“Good. If you have any further questions, bring them to me before Aurek departs.” He falls back behind the teams. “Darth Nox.”

“Let’s focus our attentions on the mess tent, and make sure everyone eats before we venture into the Academy,” she says. “We have plenty of daylight left, and I’ve no wish for this mission to drag on longer than needed. We can always come back after Vitiate is handled.”

[7]  
White flakes drift down through the open ceiling of the Academy library’s ruined main room. The advance team cleared out a vast majority of the accumulated snow when they first arrived, but all they revealed was a burned, obliterated husk of a room. Flimsy crackles underfoot as Marr, taking point, strides through the open space. The red glow from his drawn saber reflects on holocrons that are charred and cracked, datapads that have melted together.

The stillness is unnerving.

“Nox, it’s clear.”

Kryn storms into the expansive room, the low light gleaming on her head to toe armor as she surveys the damage. It’s clear in short order that _storm_ is about to become more literal than perhaps is advisable, as ozone filters through his mask. She picks up a datapad, jabs at it despite the soot layering it, flings it aside when it doesn’t work. Loose powder is sent whirling when she stoops to look at a piece of flimsy.

“I can’t read it,” she mutters, crumpling it in one gauntlet. “Not that it matters. Two thirds of it is gone.” She pitches the balled-up flimsy across the room. “Damn that librarian and damn Scabrous! All of this knowledge, destroyed! Who knows what was here? What we need could be sitting in this mess!” She punches a shelf, ignores the soot that rains down on her head.

Marr looks at the rest of the strike team members. “Check these branching hallways; see how clear they are. Nox and I will decide which direction we’re heading.” As they file away, sabers drawn, Marr comes to stand at Kryn’s side. 

She doesn’t look at him, still scowling at the shelf in front of her.

“They wouldn’t have kept an artifact of that age in the main library. You’ve met acolytes. Who knows what that box does when you use it? Would you leave that within easy reach of any random Sith on Korriban?”

This does little to mollify her. “You think the lower levels are going to be any better? We don’t even know how to get to them, short of jumping down through one of these fucking _holes_ in the floor!” She kicks at one of the piles of ruined datapads on the floor, watching one slide over the edge of the hole she’d angrily gestured at a moment earlier, then flings an arm at the hallways leading away from the room. “There aren’t any maps of this place, because I guess that sort of thing isn’t important to the Empire. No list of what was stored here. Who keeps these damn records? I’m going to have the Wrath drop in to say hello.”

“Kryn.” Marr takes her hands. “It’s one setback. The only difference if we’d been able to see it from the aerial reconnaissance is that we’d have known it was here. Are you telling me that if this library had been pristine, and the box was sitting in a lighted case in the center of the room, you’d have stopped and we would have left? You wouldn’t have looked through any of these other hallways and rooms?”

She’s silent for a long moment, then pulls her hands out of his, folding them across her chest. “No, that’s not what I’m telling you. This is just frustrating.”

“All right.” He can’t quite stifle his rueful chuckle as he rubs his thumb across her cheek, or at least, the cheek of her helm. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m starting to understand why you gripe about my armor.”

He can’t see her face, but he knows exactly what expression sits on it by the snooty tone in her voice. “Good. At least there’s that.”

“My lords.” A voice behind Marr, on the far side of the library, carries across the stillness. Marr takes a step back and turns; Kryn nods toward the woman - Lord Linaera Tsurai, Aurek’s tech expert. She’d taken point on Marr’s command to conduct the initial exploration. “This hallway is clearest, whenever you are ready to proceed. We haven’t found the passages leading downward yet, but it I’m sure we’ll find the way down during our mapping of these ground level rooms.” 

“Excellent work, Lord Tsurai.” Kryn begins picking her way across the library, followed by Marr. “Do you have any leads or suggestions for where to begin looking for the way down? Guided by the Force, perhaps?”

Tsurai consults a datapad. “Not the Force, but some of these halls are warmer than others, and we suspect those are the ones that will yield the payoff as far as the search for the lower levels, where this artifact most likely is.”

Kryn’s hand comes to rest on her lightsaber, a habit ingrained at the Academy and one that refuses to relinquish its hold, even given her prodigious use of lightning over melee combat. “Let’s see what else we can find.” She looks at the rest of the team, who have joined the three. “Everyone fall into formation behind Darth Marr, and stay alert. We still don’t know the status of the advance team.”

[8]  
The others had gone deep underground when the fire had ravaged the world above, and while many of them had been destroyed at the hands of the vengeful, spiteful Jedi, some had remained. It was these few that found the advance team, these few that gave them the gift of the song, the gift of the power, the gift of blood-red clarity.

They hunger.

A datapad sails through the air and clatters to the floor, exploding in a shower of broken bits.

As one, the captives of the inescapable song look upward. The song hums in Xisax’s blood, in his brain, in his whole being. He and Jyshira and the rest of the advance team had joined the others like them, curled up in the dark, mere vestiges of their former selves the only thread keeping them together. Jyshira hasn’t left his side since she gave him the gift, since her teeth tore at his throat and the song rushed through them both.

They hunger.

They wait.


	44. Per Caliginem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The expedition continues, though no one knows what waits for them within the haunted walls of the academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient on how long this chapter took! School let out for the summer and sent our routine into a tailspin. xD

[1]  
The Empire prides itself on the education of its citizens, especially the education of its Force users, the pinnacle of its society. The largest academy is Korriban, a massive and imposing campus on the outskirts of sprawling Dreshdae, the academy for the children of elevated bloodlines and those whose strength and ability catches the eye of senior Sith. Korriban, however, is not the only academy within the Empire’s boundaries. There are others: smaller, less well-known, most focusing on particular aspects of Sith knowledge.

The academy at Odacer-Faustin, founded in 315, is one of these. Dedicated to the study and preservation of history, a high priority for a society with a past full of attempts at its eradication, it boasts a library of unprecedented size and scope outside of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge. Its halls have been host to an uncounted number of visiting scholars, its stacks of holobooks passive witnesses to vigorous debate and the exchange of knowledge as overseers educated the next generation of Sith historians. It was small yet bustling, fulfilling a vital niche in the Empire.

No longer.

Its buildings stand neglected, battered by the elements, snow swirling in the halls where walls have given way before nature’s fury. Its halls are devoid of students and scholars. Its scrolls and holocrons are coated in thick layers of dust, its treasures abandoned. No longer does does discussion between great minds of the Empire ring in the rafters of the central wing of the library. No longer do students crowd the narrow hallways, hurrying to lessons and meditation and meals. No longer does the _clang_ of training sabers echo from the rooftop arena.

The academy at Odacer-Faustin is claimed by silence, shrouded in darkness, and inhabited by death itself.

[2]  
_Library, Southeast Wing_  
_Team Aurek_  
_Darth Nox, Darth Marr, A. Luxanor (Fixer Two), Lord X. Na, Lord Nehu-Bai, Lord L. Tsurai, Lord S. Aguta_

“The room is clear, Darth Nox.”

After Marr’s pronouncement, Kryn circles the perimeter of the room and activates the lights, gasping when they reveal a large study area with a distinctly monastic feel to it. It is a space dedicated to knowledge, with towering shelves of holobooks and scrolls, some of which are still scattered along the long tables, covered in dust. 

Observing from the side of the room and unseen behind his mask, Marr smiles as Kryn runs a finger along one shelf, her head tilted to read the titles. 

“We’ll break here,” she says, pulling herself away. “How fast can we get these titles catalogued?”

Lord Xamori Na, a quiet, studious Cathar and Kryn’s handpicked archivist for Team Aurek, scans the room. “With Aguta, Nehu-Bai, and myself working on it? Maybe an hour.”

“I’ll assist.” Marr crosses to Kryn’s side. “It will progress faster with one person on each wall.”

Lord Na motions to Lord Shaitois Aguta, a older Pureblood and one of Kryn’s senior translators, and Lord Nehu-Bai, a Voss and veteran archaeologist. They spread out as Na gives orders. “Team comms off for this so Darth Nox isn’t inundated with all of us reading. Annotate where you start and each time you change shelves. I have spare datacards if anyone’s is getting full.”

They’re engrossed in their work when Annaeval’s datapad vibrates silently; she examines the message from Dzemdri, then shoves the datapad back into its case on her belt with a muttered expletive. Lord Tsurai looks over from where she’s tinkering with something on her gauntlet. “What is it?”

“Jattik’s squad of Knights lost two, including Jattik. I was hoping to get a readout of the efficacy of the healing tech; if it isn’t going to work at all, we need to know.” Annaeval makes a surprisingly undignified snorting sound. “Neither Jattik nor Sandent activated theirs, so we still don’t have an on-the-ground test.”

“Damn.” Tsurai taps a few places on the side of her helm, adjusting her internal display, then resumes her measured pace across the width of the room. 

Kryn settles onto the bench next to Luxanor. “What happened to the other member of that squad?” She thinks for a moment. “Konthe.”

“She finished dispatching the group they found, then went silent to retrace her steps back to base camp.”

“Good. Better she provide backup there than stumble on another nest and be severely outnumbered.” Kryn pulls out a datapad, making notes as she waits for the others to finish their cataloguing. One of her secondary goals is mapping the labyrinthine library, and all mission participants are equipped with holocams in their helms, transmitting a continuous stream of information back to Dzemdri, Dorn’s tech specialist. 

When they’re finished, Marr comes to sit next to her and consults his chrono. “We’ve been in here for a few hours. I’d suggest everyone eat something now; we don’t know what we’re going to find in the lower levels.” The other four team members join Marr, Kryn, and Luxanor; everyone but Marr slides their helmets off as Kryn pulls six ration bars out of a pouch on her belt and hands them out. He takes the datapad from Kryn, examines the updating map, points at a widening area. “I see Besh is making good progress with the southwest quadrant. That offshoot they took panned out.” 

“If we don’t find this thing somewhere in this corner, we’re going to have to send a group back to the northeast, or make our way there ourselves. Jattik’s squad getting decimated set us back in that quadrant.” She finishes her ration bar, carefully folds the wrapper and puts it back into the pouch, then deactivates the display on the datapad and slips the device into a padded pocket on her thigh. “I can’t believe how haphazardly this place was built, rooms and hallways just tacked on without any seeming regard for organization.”

“Which passageway are you planning on taking?” Marr gestures at the three that split off in different directions, on the other side of the room from where they came in. “Do you have a plan, or are you just guessing?”

She folds her arms, drumming her fingertips against her upper arm. “The one on the left continues downward. We’ll be best off finding how far down it goes and working our way back up.” She rakes a hand through her hair, then slips her helm back on. “Are we ready to move?” Everyone nods, stashing wrappers and putting helmets back on, and she stands. “Onward and downward.”

[3]  
Death is timeless and eternal, its reach in the galaxy omnipresent and unavoidable.

In the academy, its touch is a crushing stranglehold, the pincers of an acklay, the jaws of a rancor. There is no gentle drift into everlasting sleep here, no warrior’s rest after honorable combat; the living are dragged, struggling and screaming, into the endless hunger of the dark.

[4]  
_Library, Northwest Wing_  
_Shadow Knights, First Cadre_  
_Darth Soma, Lord K. Lacna, Lord V. Melge_

The stealthed, armor-clad trio moves down a shadowed hallway to the northwest, its lights long extinguished, though this presents no hindrance to the three Shadow Knights who thread their way through the darkness. Doorways are scattered along the hallway; the engraved labels grow more and more faint as they proceed. Vunris, the appointed record-keeper for this cadre, murmurs the ones he can read, adding them to the running list and the ever-updating map. 

“The Force itself is muddied here.” Kolia’s voice breathes through the other two comms, only magnified to an audible level by the tech. 

Soma’s hand hasn’t left her saber hilt. “Yes.”

“We’re drawing closer to a focal point of it.”

They’d watched the holo, pored over the reports, accepted they were going to fight and agreed on nullification strategies. “They’re beasts, an infestation. Put them down as such. Do not cease your attack until they are no longer moving.” Soma’s emotionless recitation of battle protocol doesn’t change with her last pronouncement. “A wound that breaks skin is death.”

Vunris ceases his recitation. “Luxanor’s medical implants -”

“Are not a sure thing. The order stands.”

They continue in silence until Kolia stops in front of a closed door, its entry panel dulled with grime and time. She stretches out one hand, pulls it back, points and nods. Soma touches a button on her gauntlet and waits for Nox’s acknowledgement. “My lord, we have a closed room with contacts inside. Bypass or eradicate?”

“Eradicate.”

“As you command.” Soma stands on the far side of the hallway, saberstaff at the ready. Kolia and Vunris take up positions on each side of the door. On Soma’s nod, Vunris presses his hand to the entry pad.

Three sabers activate, bathing the hallway in harsh red light.

The door’s machinery whirs a litany of complaints as it opens.

The first thing Soma notices is the smell of rotten plants, strong enough to get through the scrubbers in her helm. It’s as though an entire greenhouse has been left to die in that fetid hole, and her nose wrinkles almost involuntarily. This is instantly forgotten, however, when the first two graying, decayed beings rush through the opening. 

Soma has been a part of the Sphere of Mysteries since she was twenty-three, twenty years now. She’s seen things she will never reveal to another Imperial, all manner of projects gone wrong that must be excised but that exist below the Wrath’s notice. Alchemists who have twisted their living forms into grotesqueries unimaginable. The result of imperfect biological testing. Failed crossbreeding programs. Even in each of these things, the Force exists, familiar and constant. Its swirls and eddies might differ, but it is still recognizable.

Here, it’s twisted beyond comprehension, diseased and malevolent; for the first time since she left the Academy, Darth Soma feels fear skitter down her spine as these _things_ shove through the door with hands outstretched and grasping, driven by nothing more than mindless hunger, silent but for involuntary grunts. They’re cut down by Kolia and Vunris, their saberstaffs blurs of red as they slice the two creatures into unmoving pieces.

Two more take their place; two more meet the same fate.

Kolia has just raised her staff, preparing for the next wave, when a large hand reaches out, clamps around her arm, and yanks her into the shrouded room. Her gasp of surprise, shockingly loud in the comm units after all of the barely-breathed conversation, is followed by the sound of tearing armorweave and a cry of pain cut short behind clenched teeth.

Soma and Vunris exchange a glance, then raise their sabers. Soma takes a step forward. “Kolia?”

“A wound that breaks skin is death,” she answers, her voice already slightly garbled. 

The rest of the diseased things, five of these offenses to the very nature of the Force, storm the door. Kolia - or what remains of her, the damned plague moves faster than Tatooine’s fabled sandstorms - is with them, helm discarded, her already-pale skin now outright ghastly. The armorweave has been snatched off her arm, revealing a large chunk of flesh missing just above her elbow.

Vunris disarms her, literally, as she comes through the door, her saberstaff still in her hand, and then beheads her. He and Soma work in tandem, letting the Force guide their movements, as they paint in shades of death and destruction in the narrow hallway. They do not stop until all movement has ceased: every twitching arm, each still-blinking eye, every grasping hand.

Soma examines what’s left. “This clothing is near rags, except for Kolia.” She points at various spots, tattered cloth and shinier armor. “See how much newer these parts are? I don’t believe this was any of our advance party.”

A faint tone, signaling an incoming message from the base camp, interrupts her analysis. It is followed by Dzemdri, the camp tech. “My lords, we have your holos of the whole incident, including Lord Lacna’s. Is there anything in particular in that room? Any clue as to why they were holed up in there?”

Soma steps over the carnage in front of the doorway, peering around. “Just holobooks and scrolls.” She tilts her head, reading titles. “I don’t think these things care about what’s in the library. If they do, we don’t have enough information to determine why.”

Another voice enters the conversation. “Annaeval Luxanor here, from Aurek. I don’t believe they think they’re guarding anything, if that’s what you’re asking, Dzemdri.”

“It was. It would be easier to just search where they’re holed up if that’s what their behavior is.”

“Logical, but these things aren’t so advanced. I agree with Darth Soma’s assessment; they’ve simply chosen places to hide, to nest.” Luxanor’s voice is thoughtful. “We saw the damage at the tower site when we landed, and read the Jedi’s report, but there’s no reason to believe Trace’s assessment that every one of these creatures was in that tower when it was destroyed, given that one was on her ship.”

“They retreated,” Soma says.

“Yes. It’s not cold enough to kill them, if cold could even do so, but perhaps cold enough to make the hunger hibernate until prey got close.”

“Are you suggesting they’re evolving?” Dzemdri asks. 

Luxanor is quiet for longer this time before answering. “Not … necessarily. The holos and reports we have suggest they work on pure instinct, driven solely by the hunger, though they can be crafty when need be, when they need to lure someone in.” Her voice is thoughtful. “I would study one, but that project has already been declined,” she says with no small amount of disappointment in her voice.

“With good reason.” Soma crouches to look at the floor, noting the profusion of withered vines and some sort of small, dark, dead flower. “I have never seen something that works as fast as this does. If anything were to go wrong and this was on the capital ….” Plucking Kolia’s helm off the floor, she extracts a datacard, slips it into a small pouch on her belt, and trails off, unable to repress a shudder. “No. This can’t ever leave this planet.” She stands, rejoins Vunris. “We will continue our mission.”

[5]  
Death routs the academy, bleeds it of humanity and vibrance and life, and then it rests.

It sleeps in students’ beds, sprawled among the scattered remains of holos and letters and clothes and books. It dozes in dreamlessness near ancient scrolls. It reposes with rheumy eyes and endless hunger, listening as footsteps draw closer.

[6]  
_Senior Dormitory_  
_Team Cresh_  
_Lord A. Davros, Lord Xivhkalrainik, Lord Aogek, Lord C. Holt, Lord F. Vallan, Cabic’zabe, Lord J. Heccla_

Ashara pauses inside the door of the four story dormitory and turns to face the team members behind her. As one, the other six members of Cresh nod. She then points to the left and the right; they break into two groups and array themselves in front of the first two doors on each side of the long hallway. Ashara raises her hand again, then drops it.

On the left, Lord Holt - a lanky, pallid Pau’an - presses her hand to the entry panel. On the right, Xalek does the same.

The doors, protected from the elements by the sturdy stone walls around them, soundlessly open, revealing vacant rooms that still look like their inhabitants could return at any time. Tables stacked with study materials. Foot lockers set at the end of both bunks in each room. A letter sits half-finished on a desk, a black robe is draped across the end of one bed. The only conspicuous absence is lightsabers, though no Academy student would dare be caught wandering around without their weapon.

Lord Aogek steps past Holt into the left room, looking through the collected holobooks. Lord Vallan, a Nagai whose pale face is visible through her clear helm, sorts through the stack on one of the desks on the right. When the rooms are clear, they rejoin the group in the hallway, ready to repeat the procedure for each of the remaining rooms.

They’re on the third floor and spread out to check four rooms at a time, two on each side of the hallway while Ashara and Xalek keep watch, the spaces searched and exited in short order; Lord Heccla is on her way out when she brushes a shelf and knocks a glass figurine onto the floor. It shatters loud, almost harsh, in the heavy stillness.

Something creaks on the floor above them. Ashara and Xalek exchange a glance, then both look upward. The noise doesn’t repeat, but Xalek’s hand stays on his saber hilt. 

_thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud_

A holobook lands at the bottom of the stairs not more than five meters away from the team.

Ashara’s chest tightens as she wraps her hands around her sabers. “We knew two clear buildings would be too good to be true,” she says as they swiftly move into a formation allowing them to have eyes on both sets of stairs. “Zabe, stay in one of the cleared rooms.”

Zabe, a stocky Twi’lek and tech aficionado who’d gotten them into multiple foot lockers on their search, netting them more than a few datapads of interest, shakes his head. “Not gonna cower in a room while the rest of you fight, my lord.” His voice is steady as he unsheathes his vibrosword. “I didn’t sign up for this to sit and hide, and I passed the combat tests.”

The Togruta nods. “As you wish. May the Force be with us.”

The sound of rushing footsteps echoes in both stairwells, followed by a piercing scream.

[7]  
Death beats the drum and all beings march.

It cares not for titles, associations, bravado, or timidity. It cares not for species or status, wealth or intelligence, any of the things sentients use to divide themselves into groups. Amid these stone walls, unmoved by the whipping wind, its discordant tune corrupts all who hear its song.

[8]  
_Library, Southeast Wing_  
_Team Aurek_  
_Darth Nox, Darth Marr, A. Luxanor, Lord X. Na, Lord Nehu-Bai, Lord L. Tsurai, Lord S. Aguta_

Kryn runs her hand along the wall, dictating a series of personal notes about the change in architecture. This section of the library is noticeably older, fashioned less like a monastery and more like a fortress, with wide doorways and strong, square detailing. There is very little here in Basic; Marr and Shaitois Aguta are handling the bulk of the annotation at this point, and Kryn once again curses the Academy’s shortsightedness in not teaching Sith to alien students, making a note to address that with Darth Aruk when she returns to the capital.

“Student records in this room, my lord,” Lord Aguta says. “Shall we move to the next?”

“Yes, as long as we’ve noted it for the map.”

The next three rooms yield a trove of scrolls and books, but nothing that sounds as though it pertains to their search; Kryn’s mouth twists in frustration, and it takes quite a lot of willpower to not snap a reply when Marr calls her over to look at the faint engraving next to a door. He studies her for a moment before he touches his hand to the entry pad, and she makes a _come on_ gesture with one hand. “What is it?”

“This will brighten your outlook considerably, even if what we seek isn’t within.”

The door grinds open, revealing a room full of carefully labeled, meticulously organized artifacts: holocrons, figurines, smooth reflective spheres, and more. “Oh!” She swiftly scans the shelves for any sign of their relic, face falling when she realizes it’s nowhere to be seen. “It’s not here.”

“No. But these are not only labeled, they’re dated.” He points to a series of holocrons on a lower shelf. “These are from 474, and we still don’t know how far this repository goes. There may be things here that survived the last time the Republic tried to decimate us.”

“Excellent. You and Shaitois ….” She stops, shakes her head. “No, let’s just annotate the room’s location and move on. We’ll come back. Let’s rejoin the others.”

Kryn notices they’re one short as soon as they’re back in the hallway. “Where’s Xamori?”

“She was looking through a storeroom,” Nehu-Bai says. She touches a button, activating the team’s comm frequency. “Lord Na, we’re ready to proceed.”

The only response is a low _rrrrrrrrrrr_ , reminiscent of a speeder engine that won’t turn over. Kryn keys the frequency, but before she can speak the Cathar fairly explodes out of the room she’d entered, shambling toward Kryn with incredible speed. Her cream-colored fur is shedding at a rapid rate, revealing mottled and discolored flesh underneath. 

Kryn’s heart drops as she brings her lightsaber up, but Lord Tsurai dashes in from the side, blood orange saber already ignited. She connects in a tackle that would have received a standing ovation at any smashball game, and the two women crash through the far wall, disappearing into the darkness.

Lord Aguta peers through the new gap in the wall. “They went through the wall, then through the floor. There’s a sizeable hole here, my lord. I can’t tell how far down it goes.”

Annaeval taps a button. “Lord Tsurai, can you hear me?”

Silence.

“Answer me!”

Kryn swears under her breath, effortlessly channeling her grief over Xamori into anger. “Two. Two in less than a minute.” Another swearing streak, this one multilingual. “We need to clear that room she went into. On my lead.”

“Not to circumvent your directives, Darth Nox, but perhaps I should take point,” Marr says. 

She nods brusquely, falling into step behind him. “And Lord Tsurai had the majority of our portable lights. Damn, damn, damn.”

The nest they find is small - three of the creatures, huddled in utter silence as the group moves through the storeroom, waiting until they’ve passed by to attack. Their cleverness doesn’t benefit them, in the end; they are dispatched in short order, left in truly dead pieces before the somber group sets out again.

They aren’t more than ten meters down the hallway when a section of wall directly in front of them swings open and a man strides out, rifle held at the ready. Four lightsabers are drawn in an instant, and the man takes a step back even as he heaves a sigh of relief. “Finally, I found _someone_. Was starting to wonder if I was gonna be lost in there forever.”

“Pierce?” Kryn deactivates her saber, stepping around Marr. “What the hell are you doing here? Where’s the rest of your team?”

Pierce shrugs. “Dunno. We got ambushed by a bunch of those fucking things, looked like kids so I don’t think it was the people we lost. There was a bit of jostling, I got pushed up against a wall, next thing I fucking know the wall’s _moved_ and I’m in some dark hallway with no lights, no guidance, nothing. Comm went on the fritz, datapad wasn’t picking up signal so the map was useless. Flipped on the night vision, nothing but smooth walls as far as I could see. Started walking, hoped I’d find a door at some point.”

She tilts her head, tapping her toe on the stone floor. “So you just wandered around in the dark and hoped you’d eventually find someone?”

“Pretty much.”

Kryn can’t decide if she wants to laugh or punch him. Maybe both. “You may as well stay with us since you’re here, unless you want to go back to the base camp.”

“Hell no. You promised me a big damn adventure, I’m having a big damn adventure. Let’s go.” He falls into the line behind Marr, who has a datapad out.

“Nox, I’m marking this doorway. Whatever this passage is hiding must be in the other direction.”

Kryn runs her hands along the edges. “Nothing here, no buttons, no switches, no … ah!” Her questing fingers find a small engraving. “I bet the doorway Pierce found has something similar, and he tripped it.” She taps the base camp frequency. “Dzemdri, did you get Darth Marr’s update to the map?”

There’s a pause, and then the Chiss comes on the line. “Got it. Need a note added?”

“Yes, there’s an engraving on the left side, about a meter and a half up, that triggers the mechanism.”

“Got it, my lord. Anything else?”

“Lieutenant Pierce says Besh was ambushed. Have you heard from Talos, or anyone else on his team?” She does an admirable job of keeping her voice calm, sure Talos would have checked in.

“No, my lord. We heard the commotion in the beginning, and then the whole team went comm-silent.” Dzemdri considers the possibilities. “But if they knew there were more contacts nearby, or were trying to lure them into a trap, they’d have to go silent.”

Kryn resists the urge to kick the wall. “Yes, that’s true. We’re going to keep moving. Let me know immediately if you hear from any of Besh.”

“Yes, my lord.”

[9]  
Death stalks the darkness, drawn to heartbeats and indrawn breaths and the spark of life. Its tread is relentless and unwavering. The living may run, but they will never escape it. And when they finally turn to confront it, it wears the face of their friends, twisted into incomprehensible savagery.

[10]  
_Base Camp_  
_Team Dorn_  
_Darth Axon, Darth Rache, Lord K. Enizo, Lord C. Hashu, Lord T. Kitmar, Dzemdri, Lord L. Graku, Khem Val, A. Revel, Lord F. Konthe_

Darth Axon’s boots crunch in the snow as she makes her rounds of the camp, double checking the turrets and exchanging a few words with each team member she crosses paths with. Her gaze keeps straying toward the library; it’s already claimed three assassins and multiple members of both Aurek and Besh. In the howling wind, surrounded by darkness, it’s easy to imagine the worst. 

She mentally runs through the final contingency plan again, has been doing so since the sun set two hours ago. She recites it like a mantra, plotting exit routes and what equipment cannot be left behind. So intent is she on her thoughts that she starts when the comm in her pocket vibrates. Flustered, she nearly drops it as she activates it. “Darth Axon.”

“Darth … Axon?” The voice is Imperial, no doubt about it, and Axon would put credits on the owner being a native of Dromund Kaas, but she can’t identify the speaker offhand. “I require Darth Nox. She requested I contact her when I acquired some information she was searching for.”

“Nox is otherwise indisposed,” Axon says. “She directed me to take down the information if you called, however, and she will contact you when she has returned from her current mission.”

“Ah.” The connection falls silent for a moment. “Very well. Inform Nox that -”

The rest of his message is lost as a shrill, inhuman cry pierces the night air, followed by the sound of multiple people hurtling across the barren snowscape. “We’re being pursued!” Ashara’s voice carries over the sudden activity in the camp, people coming out of tents to see what the commotion is about. “At least twenty enemies, maybe more! We’ve lost five!”

Conversation forgotten, Axon jams the comm back into her pocket, turning to alert the camp. “Enemies inbound on the west!”

Workstations are vacated as the whole of Dorn makes its way to the western edge of the base camp, weapons in hand. Ashara and Xalek thunder past the defensive perimeter, immediately turning to stand with the other ten people. “We left them behind but not by much,” Ashara says, breathing hard, watching the line where the camp lights end and the darkness begins. “The healing prototype didn’t work, not enough to save them; Lord Vallan and Zabe both activated it when they were bitten. The plague just moves too fast for it to keep up.”

The multitude of footsteps on the snow, quiet at first, grows louder and finally reaches the camp, but no one in Dorn is prepared for the sight of the fallen advance party. They sweep into the circle of light and halt, carnage personified as they stare down the assembled Imperials with pallid, watery eyes. Old spilled blood is black on graying, rotted skin; armor is piecemeal at best, helmets and chestplates discarded. Limbs, jaws, heads all seem to be at unnatural angles.

A pair of Mirialan step forward, two women of identical height, the vibrant green of their skin faded to a sickly pallor, peering intently at the group.

“Luyha! Qarvi!” Lord Koto Enizo, a smaller, younger man, shoves through the group, deftly avoiding Ashara’s grasp as she reaches out to stop him. “It’s me, Koto!” His voice breaks on his name and he runs across the three meters, right for his sisters. “It’s me!” 

Xalek’s voice is colder than the wind whipping around them, his gloved hand tightening on his lightsaber hilt. “He is dead. Prepare for battle.”

As Enizo reaches the Mirialan women, they open their mouths as one and fall on him.

[11]  
The Sahlaj Dzun comes for us all -  
Heroes, cowards, and servants, too.  
She’ll come for me  
And you will see  
The Sahlaj Dzun will come for you.  
_-”The Red Lady,” Sith nursery rhyme, author unknown_

[12]  
_Courtyard_  
_Team Besh_  
_Capt. T. Drellik, Lord Oisrok, Lord X. Deyet, Lord B. Rilisi_

“Captain Drellik, do you require assistance?”

Talos, limping, waves off the Twi’lek as the remaining four members of Besh exit the library and step into the frigid courtyard. “No, Lord Oisrok, but thank you for offering. It’s rather embarrassing, being the only person so far that’s needed kolto for a broken limb. Darth Nox is going to laugh herself silly.”

Xurin Deyet, the team’s archaeologist, has been ready with quick quips over the team comm the entire expedition, and she can’t quite contain a bark of cynical laughter. “At least you’re not dead, Captain.” She shrugs. “Or dead twice over.”

The group falls silent. They’d been ambushed by a pocket of the plaguebearers, losing two to the creatures and Pierce to the academy itself. Talos nods slowly. “There is that, Lord Deyet.”

Lord Bue Rilisi, a studious, quiet Arkanian, points in the direction of the base camp, her voice soft. “There are too many lightsabers activated. Something is going on at camp.”

“You three go,” Talos says, waving in the direction of camp. “I’ll only be a liability if they’re being attacked. We know nothing followed us, and it’s a clear path between here and there. I’ll be fine.”

The Sith exchange a look, nod, and speed away across the courtyard toward the base camp and Dorn. As they approach, Rilisi holds up a hand. “Look. They were accosted by a large force, but have cut most of them down. Circle around behind the group and flank them.”

Oisrok and Deyet follow her lead, coming up behind the remainder of the attacking force. Four succumb to their blades before the remaining eight realize they’re under attack from both sides. “We have them!” Oisrok’s booming voice rings across the battlefield. “Press the attack!” An answering cry goes up from Dorn and the Sith descend on the walking dead, crimson blades cutting through the night air. The calmness as the last creature falls feels unnatural, too still, as though everyone is holding a collective breath to see what happens next.

When everything remains motionless, Darth Axon surveys the remaining Sith. “Did we lose anyone?”

Darth Rache, a Pureblood who’s made no secret of the fact he’s thrilled to not be escorting scientists anywhere on this mission, clears his throat, sounding more somber than Axon’s heard him yet. “Dzemdri. Lords Enizo, Hashu, Kitmar.”

“Shit. Spread out. Check each ….” She waves a hand at the gruesome scene in front of them. “Make sure they’re all actually dead this time. I don’t want a surprise later tonight when only the watch is awake.”

“Won’t just be the watch,” Andronikos mutters as he readjusts his grip on his vibrosword. “I’m sure as hell not sleeping after seeing those _things_.”

The group is stalking among the dead as Talos finally reaches them, a lightsaber descending here and there, followed by _just checking_. He’s limping past a pile of bodies when one of them, the remains of a Pureblood woman, sits up and grabs his leg, trying to pull him off-balance and down to her. He yanks his pistol out of its holster and fires blindly in her direction, hoping the thing will loosen its grasp just enough for him to get free. He hears the distinctive hum of a lightsaber, the unmistakeable smell of cauterized flesh assaults his nose, and suddenly Talos topples backward into the snow.

“I - oh!” The hand is still on his leg, clinging to his ankle, and Talos yanks it off and throws it before his brain can register what he’s doing. It doesn’t go far, and the Sith that saved him swiftly dispatches it. “Thank you, Darth Rache,” Talos says fervently, still laying in the snow, one hand pressed to his chest. “I think my heart stopped for a moment.” Rache extends a hand; Talos takes it and climbs to his feet, wincing as he puts his weight on his injured leg. “Kolto’s wearing off; good thing I have some more in my main pack.”

“Injured?”

“Fell and fractured my leg. The tech in the suit took care of the bare bones healing, but it will likely need to be reset.” Talos sighs as he limps toward camp. “At this point, I just want to sit down for a moment.”

Rache scans the group of Sith, then activates his comm. “Axon, I’m taking Captain Drellik to the med tent to look at his leg, since Enizo’s gone.”

“Noted, Rache. We’re almost done here, anyway.” Axon is tired down to her bones and mentally exhausted, and it shows in her voice. “Just finishing identifying the dead.”

[13]  
Death rules this desolation, and it has no mercy for the living.

[14]  
_Team Aurek_  
_Darth Nox, Darth Marr, A. Luxanor, Lord Nehu-Bai, Lord S. Aguta, Lt. R. Pierce_

Kryn consults the map when the hallway ends, branching to the left and right. The left leads upward, while the right slopes downward and narrows significantly.

“There’s _something_ in that direction, Nox,” Marr murmurs into the comm, his words staticky. Their comms have been dodgy for the last hour or so, and he briefly wonders how far below the surface they are.

“I feel it, too. The rest of you stay here. Marr and I will investigate.”

Kryn and Marr, hugging the wall in the narrow hallway, slow to a crawl as they pass another offshoot a few meters away from their goal, an intricately carved archway. The rest of the battered team huddles, waiting for them to return, ready to intervene if they discover yet another pocket of the abominations that still litter this place. 

A wet shuffling sound carries to them out of the gloomy, almost oppressive darkness, along with a sickly, rotten smell, and Kryn can’t help the way her face twists in distaste. 

_They’re close. Absolute silence._

She nods, even though she’s behind Marr and he can’t possibly see her. Her shoulders tighten as they inch their way along, and she’s sure she doesn’t breathe the entire time the hallway is directly across from her, convinced one of the things will hear her or see her and they’ll flood out of the inky blackness.

They stop in front of the doorway, which appears to be unguarded in any way. A slight glow emanates from the room, cast by fading lights. Kryn reaches out through the Force, drawing back in surprise when she finds nothing. _It’s not even shielded. I doubt the artifact is in here. Why would it be so unprotected?_ She steps around him, crossing the threshold before he can stop her, and pauses in the center of the room.

Sectioned shelves line every wall, their lights fading, each compartment holding an artifact of some sort. Kryn recognizes holocrons here and there, but most of the items are things she’s never seen. Her gaze drifts back to the far wall; everything in the room radiates power, but it is strongest here, the source of the power they’d sensed earlier. This is the conduit they’ve been searching for: a cube carved from stone the dull red of drying blood, encased in gold wrought in arcane shapes that convey menace in every sweep and swirl and angle. 

She steps closer, reaching out, only for Marr to stop her hand.

_Wait. The door wasn’t guarded. No Sith would leave artifacts of this magnitude unprotected. Proceed with caution._

They both bend to inspect the area around the box, and Kryn points at the base, showing Marr how the artifact is set onto what appears to be some sort of pressure plate. She taps her cheek thoughtfully, mulling over their options, then looks up at him and deliberately taps the side of her helmet again, tilting her head in a silent question. He holds out his hands the approximate width of the box, then up to her, then nods, though she can feel his disapproval at removing any of her armor. 

She takes a deep breath, ignoring the twist of apprehension in her stomach as she lifts her helm off her head and extends it to him. He takes it, and she reaches for the box, not quite able to suppress a quick flash of humor.

_What can you possibly be amused about right now, Kryn?_

She looks from her hands to his and back. _This just reminds me of that silly holo we watched a few months ago, the one that made archaeology far more exciting than it really is. Ready?_

_Kryn, if this doesn’t work, this will go very poorly for you without your helm._

His not-quite-agreement is filtered through intense displeasure, and she gives him a cocky smile. _It’ll work._

 _If it doesn’t?_ She can practically feel him scowling.

Her smile softens and she pulls a hand back, lays it on his forearm. _Then you take the relic and go. Vitiate is more important. I love you. You know, in case I don’t get to say it again._

_I love you, too. On three?_

She nods, extends her hand again. _One._ She draws a breath. _Two._ Stills the tremor in her hands. _Three._

Her hands are a blur as she pulls the box off the shelf, followed by a similar dark blur as Marr deposits her helm in its place. They freeze, Marr’s hand already on his lightsaber, Kryn poised to speed out the door.

Nothing happens.

Kryn exhales slowly, willing her knees to not buckle. _See?_ Her voice is full of far more bravado than she really feels. _Told you it would work._

 _Let’s get back to the others._ Marr’s words are all business, but his relief is just as strong as hers. _The location is annotated on the map, and we can bring a team down here another time to investigate the rest of these._

Just as before, she tenses enough to feel pain in her back as they pass that murky hallway, and they’re almost past it when the unthinkable happens.

She fumbles the box. 

It bounces off the back of one of her gauntlets before she catches it, and though the sound is barely audible, the shambling wetness in the hallway stops. Kryn bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. _Not the scream, anything but that._ The scream means they’re coming. It means things are about to go downhill at lightspeed.

One inhuman shriek splits the pregnant silence, answered by one, and another, and then a chorus as a wave of gray-skinned, decaying creatures spill toward them. Kryn hurls the box toward the rest of the team, barely able to slow it before she’s forced to defend herself, lightning exploding from her hands. “Take the box and go!”

Annaeval sweeps the relic off the floor in one smooth motion, already pivoting for the upward slope. “Move, move, move! You heard Darth Nox!”

Marr lands between Kryn and the first attackers, pushing them back with a wave of Force energy. “You’re too exposed without your helm! Go!”

“No!” She steps into a spot on Marr’s flank, stopping the advance of the two circling around him with another concentrated blast of lightning, fighting hard to keep her bile down at the smell that assaults her nostrils as the creatures burn. 

“We _agreed_ , Nox!” His saber comes down like a scythe, and though he’s focused on the fight at hand, Kryn can feel how he’s already accepted his chosen fate. “The relic is more important!”

She kicks one creature back, pulls her saber and slashes at another, furious at the creatures, at him, at the whole situation. “It’s already gone, and I’m not leaving you here!”

A barrage of blaster fire draws the attention of the pack, and they all turn toward the figure barrelling down the hallway. “Obviously it’s up to the rest of us to handle things. Can’t have the Empire losing two Councilors in one day, can we?” Pierce rushes past the two Sith, smashes the butt of his blaster rifle into one creature’s face, stomping its head into pulp as it hits the ground. “Push them back for me, then go!”

“Are you _crazy_?” Kryn hasn’t deactivated her saber, swinging at the three still advancing on her as Marr sends the main cohort backward again. “I’m not leaving _you_ down here, either! Get your ass topside now, that’s an order from the damn Council!”

Blaster bolts light up the hallway, and Pierce doesn’t budge. “We don’t know how many more are coming. Besides, you know I never was any good at listening to superiors, Kryn. Darth Marr, you work with her, you know how stubborn she is; she’s not gonna go on her own. Get her out of here and cut this off before these things get out.”

Kryn shoves at Marr the minute he wraps an arm around her waist and lifts her straight off the ground, swiftly moving away from the fight. “No! It’s a death sentence! I’m not leaving him here to - get off me! Damn it, Marr, let me go!”

Marr ignores her, and she’s still struggling against his hold when Pierce speaks again, once they’re no longer the focus of the growing horde. “Hey, Kryn, I … you know you really are my favorite, right? Even though you stomped my heart into dust that one time.”

He’s too serious and she can’t even bring herself to say the old response; her voice cracks on his name. “Pierce, _please_ , don’t do this. You can get out before we -”

“Can’t risk it. Go save the Empire, then drink a beer for me, all right?” He pivots away from her, turning off his comm unit as one of the creatures swipes at him, going under a writhing pile of them when one dives at his legs.

Kryn watches as Marr collapses the hallway between them, barricading the things behind an immovable wall of centuries-old stone. She pushes away from him and stands with one hand pressed against the wall, the other gripping her lightsaber hilt so tightly that the metal leaves painful grooves in her skin, and doesn’t move until the already-faint blaster shots cease altogether.


	45. Daybreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strike teams depart Odacer-Faustin, and revelations come to light.

[1]  
Linaera opens her eyes.

She briefly wonders if she’s blind, there’s so little change in the darkness from when her eyes were shut, and pats around her. Her hand lands in something … soft. Squishy. Her face twists and she pushes backward, definitely sure that Xamori Na did not survive their fall. She fumbles at her helm, touches the side of it. 

Night vision shows her a long, smooth hallway fading into nothingness, and two doors on either side of her. She climbs to her feet and tries them both, to no avail. Unwilling to force them and risk a confrontation in which she would almost assuredly lose her life, she begins walking down the hall. Finding a button on her gauntlet, she jabs at it. 

Does it again when the reassuring _beep-beep_ of the comm activating doesn’t happen.

Walking alone through this benighted place is not where she _wants_ to be, but she supposes it’s better than being dead. Or _un_ dead, as the case so often seems to be here.

She just hopes this hallway terminates in a way out.

Her chrono is busted and she doesn't know how long she’s been walking, following this curving, twisting passageway, when she hears falling rubble a short but indeterminate distance ahead of her. There’s too much for it to be a random chunk of wall falling; it sounds like an entire room is collapsing. On the heels of that is _come get some, you bastards_ and the unmistakable sound of fighting. She heaves a sigh of relief that she’s finally found someone, even if they are hip deep in these nasty creatures, and speeds down the hallway, her movement augmented with the Force.

She stops short when her night vision finally reveals the scene ahead of her. Someone has laid waste to a slew of the things that inhabit this place, though they’re still struggling with a swarming group. She yanks her lightsaber off her belt, activates it, and leaps into the fray, swinging it in wide arcs.

[2]  
The night sky is just beginning to show a hint of the morning to come, but camp is somber, solemn, quiet. Now that everyone is back, the full scope of their casualties is plain to see and no one really feels like celebrating what they’ve accomplished … at least, not now.

They can’t even bring their dead home; all the infected, to a person, are burning in a pyre - at least, the ones that are aboveground. The smell still hangs in the air; everyone in camp has either left their helmet on or has a scarf wrapped around their mouth and nose, desperately trying to keep out both the cold and that smell. The dead left in the library’s lower levels will have to wait until the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, in conjunction with the Sphere of Sith Philosophy, decide to do with the academy, whether to remove its materials and demolish it, or rebuild it and reopen it.

Kryn is sitting at her desk, helm tossed onto her cot and a scarf draped around her neck when the tent flap is pulled aside and Marr ducks underneath it, two bowls in his hands. She doesn’t look up from the datapad in front of her, its screen covered in words.

 _Kryn,_  
_If you’re reading this, then I’ve bought the metaphorical farm. At least, I better have. You better not have stuck this in your datapad as soon as I left. Don’t even make that face; I know you and I guarantee you thought about it. I’m getting off track. Thinking about what you want to say to your friend after you die is harder than I expected._

_I know you chuckled to yourself over “harder than I expected,” too. Don’t play, I know you did._

_Fuck, this letter is a disaster, isn’t it?_

_Wish I was less of a coward, wish I’d told you in person, just once. Of course, I’m probably just saying that because now I don’t have to._

_Taking buildings is easy. Fighting is easy. Telling a woman that makes you feel those stupid butterflies in your stomach that you love her? Not so much. So I stood there and listened to you tell me we were both too busy, wanted to cuss your ass out and call you a liar. But I didn’t, cause for whatever reason you needed to fly and I for damn sure wasn’t gonna be the one to clip your wings._

_I’m glad we talked outside the Council chambers, glad we managed to find a place we were both comfortable, glad I got to watch you soar over all those jackasses that tried to keep you down, then turn around and bend the entire Empire to your will, even if I may not ever have quite managed to fall all the way out of love with your silly ass._

_Kick Vitiate’s ass, then bring a couple beers out to wherever they plant us big Imperial heroes and tell me all about it._

_You’ll always be my favorite (and I win, cause now you can’t argue with me about it)._

_Lt. RA Pierce_  
_PS: It’s Rory. Yes, really. No, I’m not kidding this time. I left Quinn that autographed holo, left my credits to Vette and Jaesa, and you can have my name. And this sappy clusterfuck of a letter._

“Kryn?”

She shoves the datapad aside, pulls the book of incantations in front of her. “Yes?”

“You need to eat.” She doesn’t resist when he closes the book and moves it to the side to make room for her bowl. “Here.” He sets his own on an empty section of desk, then rotates the vacant chair so it’s facing away from the tent’s entrance, settles into it, and removes his mask, laying it on the desk before picking up his dinner … breakfast, more accurately, given the early hour. “He wasn’t wrong, you know,” he says after a long moment. “He acquitted himself -”

Kryn takes a deep breath, her back ramrod straight as she picks up her own bowl. “Spare me the speech about Imperial heroism right now, all right? I know what he did. I don’t have to like it. He was a damned glory hound and I knew it would get him killed. I didn’t think it would be in front of me, though. I should have told him no when he asked to come.”

“It was his choice to make, Kryn.”

“It was an _asinine_ choice.”

Marr considers what he wants to say, weighs that against her current mood, changes his mind. “I made the same one.”

“And it was asinine when you made it, too!” she mutters fiercely, glaring at him over her bowl. “Just eat so we can get to work on this incantation.”

He obliges, and before long they’re engrossed in an impromptu lesson with random words on random pages. Marr’s attention is pulled away from the book - and Kryn, because she draws his gaze even when she’s not trying - by a rising tide of sound outside the tent. “What is going on out there?” he asks, already reaching for his mask.

“I don’t know. Let’s find out.” Kryn stands and tightens the scarf, wrapping it over her nose and mouth before flinging the flap open. 

She hasn’t fully processed what she’s seeing before Marr is striding past her, headed for the two figures just moving into the lighted area. “Get a medic!”

Annaeval Luxanor is already scrambling to obey Marr’s command when Kryn recognizes Linaera, helmetless and cradling what remains of her left arm to her chest. And next to her is a broad-shouldered figure, his gait familiar even with a limp. Relief wells up in her chest, just as quickly subsumed by fiery, blistering anger. Her voice is a whipcrack in the cold night air, her fury made manifest in the slim violet crackle of lightning snaking around her body. 

“Lieutenant Pierce!”

The camp comes to a standstill; ignoring the plethora of curious glances, she stalks across the open area and up to Pierce. He pulls off his helm and drops it at his feet. “Guess you’re gonna have to hold off on that memorial drink for me, my lord,” he says, cocky smile pulling at his mouth even though the left side of his face is bruised to hell and back. “Better reschedule the state funeral and the weeping, too.”

Somewhere in the crowd, someone gasps at this near-outright insubordination.

Kryn looks up at him for a long minute, then crooks her finger.

He bends down.

She pulls back and swings, her fist connecting with his unbruised cheek, sending him staggering a step sideways. She ignores the flare of pain in her hand, ignores how all she wants to do is hug him, ignores how she’s bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood. “How dare you disobey a direct order from the Council? I ought to have you demoted, you insubordinate asshole! And then you stroll into camp and have the sheer gall to talk to me like that!”

He straightens, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t bow, doesn’t take his eyes from her face, her delicate features twisted in incandescent rage. “Yes, my lord.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” She jabs at his chest. “Do you fucking outrank me, _Lieutenant_?”

“No, my lord.”

“No! When a Councilor gives you an order, you fucking follow it!”

“Yes, my lord.”

She’s breathing hard, her breath puffing around her in the cold night air, and she curls her fingers into a fist again, before she points one shaking finger toward Annaeval. “I’m not done with you. Go see the damn medic, and then report to me. Do you think you can manage to follow that command?” she snarls. When he nods, she pivots sharply and storms away from him, disappearing back into her tent.

As the sounds of camp resume, the tent flap shifts again, Marr’s voice a low rumble in the charged silence. “Are you all right?”

Kryn drops the datapad onto the table, exhaling shakily. “Fine. I’m fine. Why would I be anything but fine?”

He settles back into the chair next to her makeshift desk. “I know better.”

“Then why ask?”

Marr shrugs. “To ascertain your level of _not fine_.” He rests his hand on hers. “You have an interesting way of showing your relief, Kryn. I’d have thought you’d be happy he’s alive, not ready to kill him all over again.”

She mutters something under her breath, then picks up the datapad and hurls it away from her, scowling when it hits the tent wall and falls onto her cot. “Fucking mouthy asshole.”

“Me? Or him?” A pause, and a hint of mischief in his tone. “Or you?”

She folds her arms and stares at him, her mouth compressed to a thin line. “I am unamused, Darth Marr.”

“You sound like me right now, you know.” He pulls his mask off and presses a slow kiss to her forehead before replacing it. “I’ll leave you be. Do you want me to come back when you’re done?”

“Yes, please.”

He’s barely out of the chair when there’s a perfunctory tap on the outside of the tent, and then the flap shifts aside, admitting Pierce, who’s holding an ice pack to his cheek. The two men shift around each other in the small space, and Pierce inclines his head toward Marr. “My lord.”

“Lieutenant.” Marr disappears into the darkness.

Kryn doesn’t turn around, and Pierce shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Clears his throat. Throws his free hand up. “Talk to me, damn it!”

“I ….” She stands, clasping her hands behind her back as she turns to face him. “That was fucking stupid, Pierce. I thought you were _dead_.” A breath. “Because of me. And then you show up running your mouth like nothing fucking happened.”

He shrugs. “Had to be done. I know my rep, I know I earned it, but I wasn’t trying to be a hero this time. The Empire can’t afford to lose either one of you.” He’s always been too reckless for the way the Army does things - it’s why he’s still a lieutenant - and his relationship with authority has always been iffy, but he is first and foremost a patriot. The Empire is his home, always has been, and he’s watched Kryn’s rise to power, seen the effect she’s had, her actions rippling outward. “Look, I’ve heard Vette talk about you, about the changes the Council is making, about how that’s helping people. Me, I’m a soldier. Replaceable. That’s the nature of the military. But you … no one on the Council is like you. So if the question is who dies, me or you, the answer will always be me.”

Kryn stares at him for a long moment, and he wonders if she’s gonna clock him again. His cheek still hurts and he hopes she won’t, but he supposes he wouldn’t blame her. Finally, she sighs, though her resignation still has a hard edge of ire. “I’m keeping your clusterfuck of a letter.”

“I might be a little hurt if you gave it back, honestly.” He tentatively smiles at her. “You swing hard when you’re pissed, you know.”

Her chin lifts, just a fraction. “Good. I see Annaeval gave you ice for your boo-boo.”

“If it makes you feel any better, she told me I deserved you slugging me.”

“It does, actually.” Kryn sits back down in her chair. “So Lord Tsurai saved your foolhardy ass. What happened to her?” She jerks her head toward the chair next to the desk. “Sit down and tell me the story.”

He gingerly sits, wincing when his entire body protests the decision. “So Darth Marr had just collapsed the hallway, and obviously I’m not gonna go down without a fight. My damn rifle got knocked out of my hands and I’d just reached for my vibroblade when I hear a lightsaber. Then I see the lightsaber, and Lord Tsurai comes flying into the fray like some fucking avenging goddess, hacking at whatever’s closest. I’m pretty sure she took out at least eight with one swing.”

Kryn watches him shift into story mode, getting more animated, acting things out, and a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. “Eight,” she says, not even trying to hide her disbelief. “At one time.”

“I swear! Just fucking decimated those fucking things! Then after that, she yanks me out from underneath that pile,” he continues, demonstrating said yank, “and I go flying back toward her, except then one of those fucking things chomps down on her hand. She fucking pivots to me, hands me her damn saber, and tells me to cut it off, colder than a night on Hoth.” He shakes his head. “If I’d waited at all, it would have been too late, so it’s a good thing I didn’t think about it; I just took the lightsaber and cut her arm off where she pointed.” He shudders. “I don’t know what the fuck turns people into those things, but I know some black shit oozed out of her damn arm, Kryn. And it was already gray by the time it hit the … the fuck, are you taking _notes_?”

Kryn looks up from her datapad, confused at his outrage. “Of course. These are important things to know, don’t you think? Anyway, so you amputated her arm, and then …?” She makes a come on motion with her hand. “Don’t stop telling me the story now.”

He mimes lightsaber swings with his right hand. “So then she just starts hacking away at the things again, with her _right_ hand this time. I finally get my damn vibrosword out, and we finish them off.” He pauses. “She’s left handed. Or was. Told me she’d made sure she was proficient with both hands just in case, then waxed rhapsodic about the cybernetic arm she’s going to build herself.”

Kryn swiftly stifles a smile and resists the urge to ask him if he knows how his face is lighting up when he talks about Lord Tsurai. “Okay, so you defeated the rest of them.”

“Then she shifted some of the rocks so we could get through, then replaced them just in case there were any that we missed.” He holds out his arms. “And here we are. Doing fine until you punched me in my gorgeous face.”

“You had it coming. Quit whining.” She nods. “All right. We’re getting everything packed up and we’re leaving tonight. Find out what Axon needs you to do.”

He gives her a hangdog face. “But I’m injured.”

“Maybe next time you’ll think before you go charging in and being an idiot. Suck it up, soldier, and get out of my tent.” She waits until he’s lifting the flap. “I’m glad you’re back, you know.”

“I know.” He grins at her over his shoulder. “And you’re still my favorite, even though you tried to break my cheekbone. I’ll see you later, Kryn.”

[3]  
The shuttle door isn’t even closed before Kryn stalks toward the tiny quarters, already stripping off the suit of armor. “I am never again in my entire _life_ wearing something this stifling. I don't know how you do it every day. This is going on an armor rack and becoming a very pretty decoration in my house.” She leaves the armor in a pile at the foot of the bed and disappears into the ‘fresher, reappearing a few minutes later wearing one of Marr’s tunics. She drops onto the couch and sets to work without a word, arranging flimsy, a datapad, a pen, and a stack of datacards on the table in front of her.

She’s still writing when he steps out of the small bedroom, hair still damp from the shower, and he leans against the doorway to watch her. Her brow furrows and she taps the end of her pen against her bottom lip as she reads what she’s written. She reaches up to poke at where her eyecovering usually is, scowling when she remembers she isn’t wearing one, then adds one more short sentence and a scribble that can only be her signature. That page finished, she sets it onto a much smaller stack and picks up a blank from the larger stack, then starts writing. When it’s clear she’s not going to take a break, he shifts the stack of completed pages of flimsy to the floor and sits down next to her. “ _Qilitzarai_ , you’ve been here for -” He checks his chrono. “Over an hour. What are you writing?”

“Letters.” She shoves a datapad toward him. The screen shows a long list of names. “Everyone we lost on this mission, including the advance team. I researched the regulations. They get a letter, and the personnel department has to be notified so that their insurance can be disbursed to their families.”

He picks up a few of the pages of flimsy. Reads through one, then another, realizing she’s not following a form but instead writing each one individually. “This is usually handled by the casualty officers. They have a template.”

“Yes. But I contacted them shortly after we got back to camp and let them know I’d be writing the letters and delivering them to their office to take to the families.” She scrubs a hand over her face in frustration. “I’m forgetting something, though. Something important.”

Marr slips an arm around her shoulders. “Take a break. We still have three days before we’re back in the capital; you have more than enough time to finish these.”

“No, I can -” She looks up, eyebrows lifting. “I remember what I was forgetting! I need to return a call.” She consults her datapad, then plucks her holocom off the table and punches in a frequency.

Semiri appears, looking none too happy. “Oh, did you finally decide you care about what you asked Scourge to do?” She looks off to the side, shakes her head at what someone says. “No, she could have a little respect for what you went through for this information,” she says to the unseen person. “You’ve barely ate or slept -”

One of Kryn’s brows sweeps upward toward her hairline. “Excuse me?”

“He’s been working on what you asked him to do for weeks, every damn day, and then when he contacts you to give you this information, you don’t have the courtesy to answer yourself, and _then_ whatever lackey - no, don’t _Jedi_ me in that tone, Scourge -”

Kryn holds up a hand, her mouth tight with anger. “I don’t have time for this nonsense, Semiri. Take your outrage for your poor, put-upon Sith who clearly never got by without you to be his valiant defender and go outside for some fresh air. No, I didn’t take the comm with me into the academy full of enemies because I had no wish for it to activate and alert said enemies to my presence. Darth Axon is not a lackey. And the call was interrupted because _they got attacked_.”

“Oh.” Semiri’s irritation deflates like an old balloon. “I thought -”

“Yes, I know. Everyone thinks I’m irresponsible and selfish. _That Kryn, what a flighty, silly girl_. This may be news to you, Semiri, but they don’t usually entrust the stewardship of the Empire to flighty idiots.” Kryn takes a deep breath, wrangling her ire back before she says something she’ll regret. “Look, just put Scourge on, all right? I need to get back to these casualty notification letters. They’re taking me longer than I thought; I’ve only got eight done and still have twenty-five left to write.”

Semiri studies her hands for a moment. “Kryn, I’m sorry. I was being unfair.” 

Kryn doesn’t budge. “Yes, you were.”

Silence reigns on the comm channel for a moment, then Semiri disappears and Scourge takes her place. “She means well.”

“Look, if you like having a Jedi defend you, that’s your business and I won’t say anything about it, but when it gets in the way of my mission, I’m not going to entertain her little tantrum. I don’t need her attitude right now.” The hard line of Kryn’s clenched jaw relaxes just a bit. “What do you have for me, Scourge?”

Scourge consults something in front of him. “I had to be stealthy about it so as not to tip him off, and I didn’t believe my own findings at first. After more than ten weeks of searching, I am certain I have located Vitiate.

“He is on Tython.” 

A pregnant silence follows this announcement.

“I’m sorry ... did you say _Tython_?” Kryn shakes her head. “There’s no way that’s possible. The Order would notice.”

Marr, out of range of the holocom’s transmitter, steeples his fingers and taps his fingertips together. “But would they? Their hubris would not allow them to believe Vitiate could slip past them unnoticed. His reasoning is readily apparent.” 

Kryn folds her arms. “Explain it to me.”

He holds up one finger. “The Order won’t notice his presence, instead attributing it to prior events, especially the Revanites' assault on their temple.” A second. “Even if they did, they are hardly equipped to deal with him.” A third. “Tython is strong in the Force, a perfect place for him to recover his strength.” A fourth. “He is sitting right under the Order’s nose, and I’m utterly certain that that greatly pleases him.” A fifth. “In the extraordinary off chance that we discovered him, do you think the Jedi will allow Sith onto their precious planet? Especially two members of the Council?”

Kryn’s jaw tightens. “We’re going whether or not the Order likes it.” 

“It will be wiser to approach it from a diplomatic position.” He shrugs. “If Shan chooses to oppose us, she condemns her own people to death because as you say, we are going whether or not she approves.”

Scourge raises a hand. “Perhaps Semiri should reach out to her first, being a Jedi and all.”

Kryn has a datapad out, her fingers flying over the keys. “Yes. The sooner she can talk to Satele Shan, the better. We’ll wait to call until after Semiri contacts me with the results of her efforts.” She pauses. “And you’re sure you weren’t discovered seeking him out?”

“I was not discovered. I would know.”

Kryn taps her chin. “Just in case, I’m going to increase defenses there. Has there been any news on Edrin’s project?”

He can’t keep a small smile off his face. “I’ve heard rumblings they may have something to test soon, but I’ve also heard a lot of discussions about how something is missing but they don’t know what.”

“Good to know. I’ll let you go. Thank you.”

“I require no thanks; it’s in all of our interests to eliminate this threat,” Scourge says. “When you put together your strike team, I’d like to be on it.”

Kryn doesn’t have to give this a second thought. “Granted.”

He inclines his head. “Thank you. I’m sure we’ll speak again soon.”

Kryn disconnects and tosses her holocom back onto the table, a slow smile spreading across her face. “We have a location. Not necessarily the location I’d choose -”

“Are we pretending you aren’t excited about storming the Jedi Order’s stronghold?” Marr arches one eyebrow. 

She ignores this. “In addition, we have the artifact and incantation, so all things considered we are a hell of a lot farther than we were yesterday.”

“We are.” Marr extends a hand, pulling her to her feet when she takes it. “And given this development, I’m going to insist you take a break from your work in celebration.”

“I -” She can barely summon the will to argue and slumps against him, gesturing in the general direction of her stack of letters and the as yet unopened crate of things from the academy. “I shouldn’t. I have too much to get done. I’m so _tired_ , but these things can’t wait.”

“They can.”

He sweeps her up into his arms and settles into the spot she vacated on the couch, running his fingers through her short-cropped hair as she curls up against him, pillowing her head on his bare chest. She always smells faintly of ozone and it always brings to mind the first flashes in cloudy skies, heralding summer storms that send people running for shelter, stunning in both ferocity and beauty. “You’ve been on high alert for over thirty-six hours. Of course you’re exhausted. Sleep, _qilitzarai_. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“And in time to finish my letters,” she mumbles, breath warm on his skin, already half-asleep as she slips one arm around him. For the first time in what feels like ages, she doesn’t have to keep up the posture of leadership, and she’s shrugged it off like an old, heavy coat, easily becoming simply Kryn, rushing headlong into slumber in her lover’s lap.

He doesn’t remind her that they still have nearly three days of travel left, and that she’s unlikely to sleep quite _that_ long, though he wouldn’t be entirely averse to sitting like this with her the entire time. “And in time to finish your letters.”

[4]  
Day breaks bright, crisp, and clear over the Academy, spilling light across clean snow and pyre’s ashes, wide gray stone and cold durasteel.


	46. Unorthodox Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A debriefing, a not entirely unexpected call, and a thoroughly unexpected call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8-27: 47 is going to be a little delayed (it’s already late lmfao deadlines what are deadlines). My awesome beta is on vacation, and I didn’t want to rush through what I was finishing and put a crimp on her prep time before she left, so I’m going to take the time she’s gone to really tweak what I have and make sure it works, since we’re wrapping up a very significant sub-plot in this chapter.
> 
> Hopefully it’s worth the wait. :D

[1]  
The hangar is full of noise: soldiers scurrying about unloading the ships, team members talking amongst themselves as they wait for the final debriefing, the usual hustle and bustle of a military base in the background.

Kryn climbs up on a crate, pretending she doesn’t notice Marr’s flash of amusement, and holds up her hands. “If I could have everyone from the expedition over here, swiftly, we can be on our way and enjoying some much needed time off.” Everyone assembles around her, falling silent.

“We lost a lot of good people on this mission.” Kryn’s gaze falls on Ashara, who’s been withdrawn since before they departed the planet. “But their deaths were not in vain! We found the artifact we were searching for, we recovered valuable materials from the academy’s library, and we put the academy that much closer to being recovered and reopened.”

She surveys the group, noting how more than one are standing a bit taller, looking a little less tired. “This mission could not have succeeded without you, and without our fallen comrades. I will be meeting personally with the heads of your spheres; you are all to be commended for your exemplary service to the Empire. My crew, stay a moment longer. The rest of you are released. Do not forget that this mission is classified under directive 4-Jenth from the Ministry of Intelligence and is not to be discussed with anyone outside of mission participants, and only in secure locations.”

Andronikos, Khem, Talos, Ashara, and Xalek gather around Kryn as she hops off the crate and Marr moves to continue offloading equipment from his shuttle. Kryn grins at them. “You all performed superbly. I couldn’t be more proud of you.” She catches how Ashara’s face falls, and takes the Togruta’s hand. “Ashara, your performance as team leader was exemplary.”

“If it was exemplary, my lord,” she murmurs, still looking at the ground, “then Cresh wouldn’t have been decimated.” 

Kryn shakes her head at this. “Your team went in knowing this could be the outcome; we all did. We all choose, every time we go into a situation like this, to lay down our lives for the Empire.” She squeezes Ashara’s hand. “I know it’s hard. If you need to speak with me, anytime, about anything, my door is always open.”

Ashara nods. “Thank you. I may take you up on that.”

Kryn turns her attention to her taciturn Kaleesh. “Xalek, from what I hear your performance was flawless.”

“Not flawless, my lord,” he rumbles before a hint of a smile surfaces on his face. “But I am satisfied. And I know where I need to improve.” He glances at Ashara. “Lord Zavros is too hard on herself. We encountered the whole of the advance party, and they ambushed us on both sides. She kept a clear head the entire time, determined to get everyone out; it was the rest of Cresh who chose to run interference so we could escape and warn the others.”

Kryn is clearly pleased. “I had assumed as much. Thank you for confirming it.” She pivots to the next two. “Andronikos, Khem, I heard nothing but good things from Darth Axon. I appreciate you coming along when you didn’t have to.”

“Aw, you know me, Sith.” Andronikos grins and ruffles her hair. “Like I’m gonna let you run off and have wild and crazy adventures without me. At least you didn’t make me go more gray trying to keep you healed this time.”

Kryn laughs aloud at this. “Are you still whining about that?”

“It wasn’t _that_ long ago,” he sniffs. “The trauma will last forever. As will my gray hair.”

She throws an arm around his waist and hugs him. “Once I’m done with all this, we’re going on vacation. Somewhere with a nice beach and excellent drinks and eyecandy everywhere we turn.”

“You’re gonna have to meet me there,” he says, bumping her with his hip. “You’re so busy saving the Empire these days that if I wait for you I’ll die of old age.”

She sighs, rests her head against his arm. “I know.”

“Buck up, Sith. You’re doing important shit, and you know _that_ , too. We both knew it was gonna get crazy when you got put on the Council.” He tilts her head up and kisses her cheek. “But you know it’s you and me, no matter what. Even when you drag me to monster-infested Sith academies.”

“ _I hope you are not going to hug me, Little Sith_.” Khem folds his arms and stares down at Kryn as she releases Andronikos and turns to the Dashade. “ _I do not hug_.”

“I know, Khem.” A wide smile spreads across her face and she holds out her arms, wiggling her hands. “But you know I’m awfully tempted,” she continues in a sing-song. The Dashade says nothing to this, red eyes baleful, and she finally laughs. “All right, all right. I won’t hug you. Are you going back to Yavin Four?”

“ _Yes. I have enjoyed my time there. I much prefer it to the city. Some of your Revanites, cowards that they are, scampered into the deep jungle; occasionally I find them_.”

She nods. “Then I’ll see you there the next time I visit the research base. Stay on your guard, though. It’s possible someone, or several someones, will come looking for Scourge.” She turns to Talos. “Now, Captain Drellik. Tell me how you hurt yourself.”

At this, the group breaks into laughter. Even Ashara smiles, to Kryn’s great surprise.

“I, ah … that is, my lord, there was a box of scrolls on a high shelf, and I wanted to bring them back with us. I couldn’t reach them, so I made space and climbed up the lower shelves.” Talos shuffles his feet. “I got them, but my foot slipped and I fell. And, uh, broke my leg.”

Kryn’s lips thin into a bare line as she tries not to laugh outright. “Why didn’t any of your team help you?”

“They weren’t in the room, my lord. I said I could handle it.” He brightens up. “But they were all very helpful after I fell! They only laughed at me for a moment.”

She can’t can’t contain it anymore; the laughter comes bursting out of her and she has to rest her hands on her knees while she gets it under control. “Oh, Talos.”

“The Reclamation Service faces dangers in all of its forms,” he says, grinning. “Even when that danger is vastly overestimating one’s climbing ability. But I got the scrolls! They’re in one of the crates.”

“I didn’t doubt it for a moment.” She considers. “Take a week off. Be sure you don’t miss your checkup at the medcenter.” She looks at the rest of the crew. “The rest of you take a week off, as well. Does anyone need anything from me - credits, travel arrangements, something else?” When everyone shakes her heads, she nods. “Dismissed.”

As they disappear through the far door, Marr strides over, shadowed by a soldier. “Where do you want all these crates sent, Darth Nox?”

“My office at the Citadel,” she says without hesitation. “It’s the best place to go through them.” A note on three of the crates catches her eye. She dashes off a message to Lord Chirash, her office manager, directing her to set the three labeled crates in Kryn’s office, and the rest in the main research area. The three will be sent on to the Yavin research base, the contents of the others carefully examined and catalogued and sent to her vaults until Odacer-Faustin’s ultimate fate is decided. “If there’s nothing else, Darth Marr, I believe we’re done for today.”

They walk in companionable silence until they reach his speeder and toss their bags into the back; she settles into her seat and waits until he’s in his to speak. “I’m surprised Andronikos didn’t press for a party, honestly.”

“A party you no doubt would have insisted I attend.” 

She nods. “Of course I would have. Not for long, I promise.” A smile pulls at her mouth, and her voice takes on the distinctive tone of a sales pitch. “You still have beer in my fridge, you know.”

“We should have enough time to unpack and take a nap before dinner.” Truth be told, he’s been looking forward to a decent meal and sleeping in a bed that doesn’t give him back pain the entire trip home, and he’s barely made a dent in the work that’s piled up in his absence. “Shall we go out instead of eating in tonight?”

“We can go out.” She smirks at him. “Nap, hmm? _Just_ a nap?”

Though he knows he can’t feel the fingertip she’s dragging along his thigh through the durasteel plate, she’s done that enough times on bare skin that he may as well be able to. “You’re quite predictable sometimes, _qilitzarai_.”

Kryn’s smirk blossoms into a full-blown grin. “I know. And that wasn’t a no. Seems like I’m not the only one who’s predictable these days.”

[2]  
It’s been a week since their return, and thus far Kryn has refrained from contacting Semiri and outright demanding she speak with Satele Shan, but her patience is wearing thin. Now that they know where Vitiate is, time is of the essence. While they’re still working on the incantation, all the other pieces need to fall into place.

She’s down in Vault 2-Aurek, searching for materials cross-referenced on some of the datacards they’d brought back from the Odacer-Faustin academy, and engrossed in her work when her holocom rings; she nearly fumbles it when she pulls it out of her pocket and sets it on top of the records reader, touching the button without looking to see who’s calling. “Darth Nox.”

Semiri takes note of the title. “I made that call you asked me to make, but you should know that there wasn’t very much greasing of the skids. Certain parties are not very happy with my personal choices after Ziost.”

Kryn sighs. “Damn. I’d forgotten about that. So what did she say?”

“She adamantly refused to allow any Sith onto Tython, discussion closed.” Semiri shrugs. “At least, that’s the gist of it. You probably don’t want the long lecture I got before that. But basically, she said no.”

“Unacceptable,” Kryn says. “We’re going to Tython whether or not she _allows_ it. The Council does not submit to the whims of the Jedi. I will speak with Darth Marr, and we will contact Shan ourselves.” She pauses for a moment. “Thank you for trying. I appreciate it. I’m sorry you got lectured.”

Semiri smiles. “I deserved it after how I yelled at you when you called. Can we consider that penance paid?”

“Oh, I suppose.” Kryn chuckles. “I bet she’s better at lecturing you than I am, anyway. I better go; I’ve got to hike back through the Citadel. Is there anything you need or want me to bring with me when I come out your way again?”

Semiri falls silent, tapping her fingertips on her cheek. “I could use some more books. Maybe some pretty, loose dresses? It’s already getting warmer here. And snacks! Surprise me with snacks.”

Kryn laughs outright. “All right. I’ll let you know when I’m coming.”

“Love you, big sister.”

“Love you, too. Talk to you soon.” Kryn disconnects and shoves the holocom back into her pocket, then snatches her stack of datacards she’s extracted and deposits them in her other pocket. She makes her way through the Citadel, arriving in Marr’s section in short order, slightly out of breath as she waves a greeting to Bryasere before passing into his office.

“Nox.”

She unceremoniously flops into her usual chair. “So Semiri contacted Satele Shan. She was treated to a lecture on her choices, and a resounding denial of our request.”

“I expected as much.” Marr sighs. “So it falls to us. You needn’t look so pleased about this.”

Kryn’s grin grows wider. “Can you imagine her _face_ when she answers her comm? It’s going to be amazing.” She looks around his office. “Do you have some official spot where you make these sorts of calls from? I imagine you do, you just always shoo me out before you make them.”

“Of course.” He stands, leading her through a door on the right side of the office and into a large conference room. He and Kryn settle into two of the highbacked chairs and he activates the holocom, consulting a monitor before he punches in a frequency.

“You have her frequency?” Kryn’s sure her smirk can’t possibly get bigger. “Do you two often chat?”

Marr shakes his head. “Honestly, Kryn. What a ridiculous question. Imperial Intelligence has the frequencies of most major figures in the Republic, just as I’m sure they have them for us.”

Satele Shan flickers into being in the center of the table, surprise plain on her face. “This is unprecedented, Darth Marr.”

“I am aware, Grand Master Shan, but this is a matter of utmost importance.” He folds his arms. “You recently received a call from one of your Jedi, requesting your permission to allow a team of my people to land on Tython.”

Satele’s eyes narrow. “Yes. I won’t ask how you know that. I denied it, which cannot come as a surprise to you. Tython is sacred to the Jedi; I will not allow the Sith to despoil it. You must have taken leave of your senses to even think I would allow such a thing, even though you somehow coerced a Jedi into asking for you.”

“Spare me your lectures, Shan, I am not one of your lackeys.” Marr doesn’t bother to keep his disinterest out of his voice. “I am aware of your dogma; it does not concern me at this time, nor will it ever. Are you on Tython now?”

She’s clearly hesitant about answering the question, mistrust flashing across her face. “Yes.”

“Does the planet feel right to you?”

Satele closes her eyes and bows her head, then looks up, confusion creasing her brow. “No. There is a … a darkness. It is likely residual from your attack on our temple.”

“The Revanites were not _mine_ ,” he snaps, “and I would remind you that _your_ people sullied our greatest academy in the same manner. That darkness is not from the Revanites; it is from Vitiate himself.”

Satele’s jaw tightens. “If that is so, we will eliminate -”

“You will do no such thing,” Kryn says, slapping the tabletop. “Your Order does not possess the knowledge to do what must be done. This is an Imperial matter, one that must be handled by the Council. We will consent to a Jedi escort of our choosing, but we alone possess the tools to force Vitiate into a final confrontation, and we will be coming to Tython, whether or not you give your permission.” She pauses, her stubborn expression a match for Satele’s. “It is up to you whether or not your people must fall along with our former emperor, simply for your pride.”

“Nox.” Mild irritation flits through Marr’s single word, but it’s hardly a full-throated rebuke. She’s right, and it serves their purposes quite well for her to play attack dog and present the full unvarnished truth while he continues to play the part of diplomat.

Kryn is unrepentant, just as he knew she would be. “It’s true, and you know it. She knows the Jedi eschew all things that could possibly be the _dark side_.” She practically sneers the last two words. “Darth Marr, we have not fought, have not watched Imperials die to find what we need to defeat him only to kowtow to someone scared of caricatures and beholden to Jedi propaganda! The ease of this is up to her.”

Satele’s mouth has thinned to near invisibility. “So I am to have no say in protecting those of my order?”

“That isn’t what I said. Nothing will happen to them if you authorize this landing and ensure they leave us to our work.” Kryn raises an eyebrow. “If you choose not to, you know they’ll attack us -”

“And they will fall,” Marr finishes, though he sounds far more politic than Kryn does. “This is not a threat, Grand Master. This is a certainty. We have no quarrel with you at this time. Our business is with Vitiate alone, and we will not allow anything to stand in our way.”

Satele studies a point far in the distance for a long moment. “I require time to consider.”

“Grand Master.” Marr adds just a shade of impatience to his voice, not entirely unfeigned. “I would not suggest you use this time … _unwisely_.”

Kryn smirks. “And don’t make that face, like you can’t believe we’d suggest such a thing. Your order has quite the history of unwise decisions and breathtaking intolerance, especially when dealing with Sith.”

Marr doesn’t even bother with an attempt at censure this time. “How much time do you require? We are already beginning our preparations.”

“You will give me one hour, Darth Marr.” 

As though he has any other choice. He knows her tone, often uses it himself. “Granted.” He disconnects, looks at Kryn. “You did an excellent job of antagonizing her.”

Kryn shrugs and tilts her chair back enough to prop her boots on the table. “If the truth is antagonizing to our esteemed Jedi, perhaps she should consider why that is.”

“A fair point.” He removes his mask, smiles at her. “However, I was sincere. You did what you excel at doing, namely pushing her buttons, which allowed me to present the voice of reason even while what you said sat in the back of her mind.” He points at her boots.

“Oh, for the -” She swings them to the floor with a thump and a sour expression. “There. What do you think she’s going to do in this hour she demanded?”

“Meditate, probably. You know how Jedi are. They have to meditate about everything.” He taps the keyboard in front of him, examining the map that pops up. “Nothing to do now but wait.”

About five minutes before Satele is expected to call back, he takes a swig of her latte, makes a face, and picks up his mask. “What do you have against caf-flavored caf, qilitzarai?”

“I like my caf sweet, just like me,” she says, blithe. “I assume that’s the same reason you like distilled bitterness.”

He raises one eyebrow and rolls his chair around to her, smoothing a strand of hair off her temple before leaning close, wishing he’d done this sooner. “Are you saying I’m not sweet, Kryn?”

“I, ah ….” She bites her lip, fingers curling around the arm of her chair as she resists closing the meager distance between them, though she knows he wants her to just as much as she wants to. “No, that’s not what I’m -”

The holocom chimes.

“Damn Jedi,” she grumbles as he pulls back, reaffixing his mask. “They ruin everything.”

Marr chuckles, then taps the button on the holocom. “Grand Master.”

“Darth Marr. I have considered our conversation. I will grant your request on _one_ condition.”

Kryn quirks an eyebrow. It’s rare anyone demands anything of Darth Marr and lives. He sounds considerably less amused at this than she when he responds. “Which is?”

“I am your escort.” She folds her arms, her jaw tight. “This is not negotiable. I will not have Sith unsupervised on Tython.”

His answer is curt and immediate. “No.”

“Then we are at an impasse.” 

Satele’s face shuts down, much like Marr’s does when Kryn’s finally pushed him too far, and Kryn would laugh at the similarity if Shan’s stubborn refusal to listen wasn’t impeding something so important. She pinches the bridge of her nose, not even trying to hide her sigh, even as she’s curious which of them will give ground first. “Grand Master Shan, do you not trust your own so-called Hero of Tython?”

“I am unsure what Master Sartoris has to do with any of this, Darth Nox.” She settles into a familiar kneeling position. “Enlighten me.”

“Master Sartoris is our choice for escort.” Kryn folds her hands together and sets them on the tabletop. “She has given years of faithful service to your order, and her combat skills have earned her the title of battlemaster.” She can see Satele drumming her fingers on her leg. “She’s even allowed you to maintain that she is simply on sabbatical after the events on Ziost. If that doesn’t prove her loyalty to your order, I don’t know what does.”

Satele’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “You know quite a bit about this particular Jedi, Darth Nox.”

“Immaterial. Am I incorrect in my listing of Master Sartoris’ qualifications?”

The Jedi outright _huffs_ with annoyance, the first time Kryn has seen such an display of emotion from her. “No. No, you aren’t.” Her jaw clenches and her shoulders lift as she draws a deep breath, eyes closed. “I do not like being strong-armed, Darth Marr.”

He turns his palms up. “Grand Master Shan, we have been honest with you at every step of this negotiation. We told you what we wanted and why. We told you what we would do if you said yes and if you said no. It was you who chose to inject demands into the conversation, demands we are free to decline. It is hardly our fault if you feel in some way coerced.”

“You have no options here,” Kryn says, her voice flat. “That’s the one simple truth you are overlooking. We did not have to contact you at all. I am sure your padawans and scholars know Darth Marr’s history, how he took whole planets during the war. Nothing you could throw at us would so much as slow us down. This call is mere courtesy, offering you the chance to avoid more bloodshed, as you Jedi always claim you wish to do.” Her chin lifts. “And instead of being grateful, you’re going to quibble.”

“You are an extraordinarily undiplomatic politician, Darth Nox.”

Kryn shrugs, infuriating smirk on her face. “I’m not diplomatic with Darth Marr; I see no reason why I would extend that courtesy to a Jedi.”

Marr holds up a hand. “Enough. Grand Master, is this your final answer?”

“I want a list of your strike team members.”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“I want to be notified when you land on Tython.” She folds her arms. “I hardly think _that’s_ asking too much.”

Marr’s silence can be characterized as thoughtful more than anything else, though he remains still as a statue. “Can you pinpoint where the darkness is worst, without causing a ripple in the Force? Our source tracked Vitiate to Tython, but you’re there and can narrow it down.”

“I could.” She offers nothing further.

“If you do, and direct us to a landing zone that is close but not close enough to draw Vitiate’s attention, I will acquiesce to a face to face meeting when we touch down.”

Satele nods once, curt. “Very well. We have reached an accord, Darth Marr. I will ensure your landing zone is remote.” She pauses. “Do not make me regret this.”

He folds his arms across his chest; Kryn can feel a flare of annoyance radiating from him. “All I want to do is finish what your knight couldn’t do properly, Grand Master.”

“Of course.” Kryn is absolutely sure Satele is speaking through gritted teeth. “Thank you for calling.” 

Before Marr can respond, she disconnects, and Kryn doesn’t make any attempt to hide her amusement. “You really tweaked her with that parting shot.”

“And here I thought you were a fan of the unvarnished truth, Darth Nox.” He stands, waits for her to do the same. “I dislike being pushed, and under no circumstances do I tolerate veiled threats.”

Kryn smiles up at him. “I’m just surprised it took you until the end of the call for your patience to be stretched to its limit. And you say you haven’t learned anything from me.” She pauses to snag her caf off the table. “Are we leaving at the regular time?”

“Barring any unforeseen occurrences, yes.”

She reaches up, rests a hand on his cheek for a moment. “I’ll see you then.”

[3]  
Three days after their negotiations with Satele Shan, a message chimes on Kryn’s datapad as she’s standing in the caf line.

 _Made a breakthrough, my lord. Request your presence at your earliest convenience_.  
_Edrin_


	47. Mortalis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn and Marr return to Yavin Four. A serum is tested and a ritual is conducted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done! Real life was determined that I not finish this chapter in any sort of a timely manner, apparently, but hopefully it's worth the wait. :D

[1]  
Day breaks gentle at the research base as scientists stir in their bunks and the smells of breakfast drift from the cantina galley. Weak light spills in through the skylight in Kryn’s room, washing the shadows to the edges of the cozy room. Outside, leaves rustle in the gentle breeze and Yavin’s birds are already singing to the morning, to each other, to anyone who will listen.

Kryn rolls over, dragging luxurious plum-colored sheets with her as she reaches for Marr. “You’re still in bed and it’s light out,” she mumbles into his chest. “Worried they’ll revoke your workaholic card?”

“The siren call of a comfortable bed in such a tranquil setting was too much to resist.” He holds up his arm, waiting until she’s done adjusting against him to settle it over her shoulders. “To say nothing of the exquisite company in said comfortable bed.” He can feel her smile curve against his bare skin. “When are we meeting with Edrin?”

“Ten.”

Marr looks at his chrono. “Three hours. Shall we stay in bed for two more? Or will breakfast be gone by then?”

Her answer takes longer this time as she rouses herself from drifting back to sleep. “Luckily, your exquisite company is in charge of this whole operation, so if she asks for breakfast for herself and the tall, taciturn Councilor, she’ll likely get it. I’ll send for it when we decide to get up.” She yawns and drapes a leg over his. “Not going to wait til I go back to sleep then get up to work, I hope.”

“Not this morning.”

[2]  
Servant One doesn’t look up when Kryn, Marr, Edrin, and Jarax enter the low-ceilinged room that’s been serving as a detention block, but the two new residents do, though their reactions are markedly different. Servant Four scowls, his distaste twisting his regal features. Next to him, Servant Seven backs herself into a far corner, shoulders hunched, eyes wide.

“You!” she exclaims, her voice rough with fear, pointing one shaking finger at Kryn.

Marr raises an eyebrow, not that anyone can see him do it. “You certainly leave an impression on people, Nox.”

Kryn shrugs. “Not sure what I did this time. These are the two from the Arcanum, yes? I have precious little recall of that sojourn, though this is the first time I’ve regretted that.” She looks from Seven to Four. “Who shall it be? Do I have a volunteer? No? We’ll go with Seven, then.”

“Edrin,” Kryn says, watching Servant One and his calculated nonchalance. “Tell me what you’ve done so far.”

Edrin steps forward. “My lord, would you like the analysis of the formula now, or would you prefer to peruse that report later at your leisure?”

“Later is fine.”

Edrin nods. “We have injected Servants Seven and Four with the new serum. Both have reported an increase in a number of pain symptoms, as well as increased fatigue despite their captivity. All that remains is the final test.”

Kryn doesn’t look away from the glowering Sith in the far cage. “Did it fail, Servant One?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Marr.”

The hum of a lightsaber breaks the quiet. Marr slaps the panel; the shimmering cage walls disappear and he jabs his saber between Seven’s ribs, then steps back, nodding once when she falls lifeless on the stone floor.

Kryn smiles, wide and pleased and touched with cruelty. “That’s two. I grow weary of coming to these cells. Jarax, fetch another syringe for Servant One. I wish to see how quickly this works.”

“Yes, my lord.” Jarax disappears up the stairs.

Marr studies Kryn for a moment. “Are you sure we no longer need these prisoners?”

“They’re providing no useful intelligence, and prisoners who aren’t useful are dead weight.” She smirks. “Literally, soon.”

Servant One snarls and lunges at the wall of his Force cage. “Kill me and you’ll never find our Emperor! You’ll fail, just as he has foreseen!”

Kryn laughs. “That is just _adorable_! You truly think you’re indispensable. Keep thinking that. I like it.” She nods at Marr, and as one they step in front of Servant Four’s cage. Kryn deactivates it and Marr shoves his lightsaber through Four’s heart, all in a single swift movement.

Jarax, back from the laboratory, clears his throat. “The serum you requested, my lord.”

Kryn plucks the syringe off of Jarax’s open palm; she and Marr stand before Servant One. “Any last words?”

Servant One growls a stream of Sith as Kryn deactivates his cage and injects him with the serum, and is still talking when Marr runs him through, only falling silent after the crimson blade pierces his heart.

“It appears the serum is effective immediately, Edrin.” Kryn gives Marr a curious look. “What was he saying?”

“Nothing of import.”

She raises one auburn eyebrow.

“I doubt you wish a full translation,” he says. “Suffice to say he expressed a range of colorfully-phrased doubts about your lineage and various aspects of your character and disposition.”

She snorts. “I see. Edrin, send someone down to clean this mess up; dispose of them as you see fit. I’ll be speaking with Lord Scourge if you need me.”

[3]  
Kryn and Marr are already out in the gazebo, a pot of tea on the cafe table, when Semiri and Scourge join them. Scourge has a small volume in one hand, one that’s clearly quite old and requires delicate handling. He sets it on the table as he takes a seat, waiting until Semiri is settled before he opens it to a bookmarked page, pulling a datacard out from between the pages and setting it aside.

“Lord Jarax brought this to my attention as they were going through those crates you sent from Odacer-Faustin,” he says, pouring tea for Semiri, then himself. “It’s a journal by a Darth Cratria, dated 236, detailing a ritual she devised and performed to heal her child from the _zimgireshlef_ , a virulent wasting disease.” He skims the entry, though he’s committed it to memory. “From what I understand, the intent was to attempt, via the Force, a complete rejuvenation of her daughter’s physical form.”

Kryn picks up the datacard. “What is this? This won’t even play in my datapad, it’s such an old model. I may be able to play it back in Kaas City; may I keep it? If we can, we’ll make a copy and send you the contents.”

“Please, keep it. It was in the journal. I assume they attempted to record it for posterity.” Scourge looks over at Semiri. “You look displeased, Jedi.”

“What Scourge is neglecting to mention in his summary of the journal entries,” she says, ignoring him, “is that Darth Cratria’s daughter died. The ritual was unsuccessful, and we don’t know why.”

Kryn’s eyebrow twitches. “Why would Edrin have mentioned it to me, then? Is he very sneakily trying to assassinate Scourge?” She gives the Pureblood a mock chiding look. “I take it you haven’t been a model patient if the lead physician is trying to kill you off.”

Scourge chuckles; Semiri does not. “Giving him false hope is what he’s doing.”

“Jedi.”

“ _Sith_ ,” she snaps back in a mockery of his tone. “It’s true. The serum they used on Servant Seven worked fine and didn’t kill her. Why won’t you just use that?”

“She and Four both reported continued chronic pain. Headaches. Body aches. The barest restoration of senses. It would be a shadow of an existence, Semiri.” The argument has the tired cadence of great familiarity. “I would rather reach for true freedom and miss than be saddled with a maddening facsimile.”

Semiri looks away, out over the Yavin treeline, her mouth thinning with anger.

“There is still one problem with this, Nox.” Marr taps the journal, indicating a diagram on the page. “Where are you going to get this many Sith to do this? Sith you trust to know the location of your research base and Sith Scourge trusts to know of his current condition _and_ his mortality if this ritual is successful?”

Semiri snorts, though she still doesn’t turn back to the table. “Aren’t you Council members all buddy-buddy now? There you go, twelve Sith.”

A thoughtful silence falls over the gazebo.

Semiri looks back at the other three, outrage on her face. “I wasn’t serious! Have I not made it clear I don’t think this is a good idea?”

“But using the Council _is_ ,” Kryn says. “The only remaining question is that of the healer. Semiri, do you think Zal would do it?”

“You know Zal. If we ask her to help, she will.” Semiri worries at her bottom lip. “Though convincing her to come to a Sith research base might take some doing. I’ll go call her as soon as we’re done here, if the lot of you are really determined to go through with this ridiculous plan.” 

Kryn gives Semiri a cocky grin that reveals none of her reservations about the idea. “You know me, Semiri. All my plans are ridiculous. At this point I’m practically an expert in ridiculous plans, so it’s sure to go off without a hitch. Darth Marr, shall we contact the Council?”

[4]  
Kryn gives the science contingent a week of surprise leave at the end of the day, with the exception of Lords Edrin & Jarax. The large building is unnervingly quiet with everyone gone; the only sound on the main floor is the sound of the large kolto tank, currently occupied by a post-operation Scourge. Edrin and Jarax spent all afternoon removing his cybernetics, immediately putting him into the kolto tank afterward to recuperate before the ritual begins.

A small shuttle lands first, its most noticeable feature its non-descriptness. The ramp drops and a slim hooded figure steps off, looking up as she surveys the back side of the research facility. 

“Zal’shana.” Semiri jogs across the landing area and throws her arms around the hooded woman. “Thank you for coming.”

The woman slides her hood back, revealing reddish-orange skin, green eyes, and lekku striped with black, then returns the embrace. “As though I wouldn’t have come, sister. This is very important to you. I’m honored you trust me enough to ask me to help.” She looks upward at the imposing structure. “And that Kryn trusts me enough to let me come help.” Zal indicates her black shirt and trousers. “Hopefully this is sufficiently non-Jedi.”

Semiri nods. “It is. You know Kryn wouldn’t care, but she doesn’t want the other Sith asking questions, and they don’t know who you are.”

Zal nods. “I know.” She takes Semiri’s arm. “I’m sure Kryn is inside. Show me this place. It’s huge!”

Kryn comes out of her sanctuary as they walk past. “Thank you for coming, Zal,” she says, throwing her arm around her younger sister’s shoulders. “We couldn’t ask for a better healer.”

“What am I going to be doing?”

Kryn pulls the journal from a pocket and opens it to a page with a diagram. “So we’ll be drawing on the Force, and then you’ll use that energy to heal Scourge. At least, that’s the plan.”

Zal examines the journal, nods. “It’s a sound theory, as long as the Force users are strong enough. Who did you find?”

To Semiri’s surprise, Kryn shuffles her feet a little. “The, ah. The Council.”

“Kryn’la.” Zal’s lekku twitch. “You want me to sit in a Sith sanctuary, in a Sith base, healing a Sith, using the combined Force energy of the entire Dark Council?”

“I know I should have mentioned that part and I’m sorry, but Zal,” and here Kryn’s voice turns too knowing for Zal’s taste, “are you telling me you wouldn’t have come if I did?”

Zal sighs. “No. That’s not what I’m telling you.” She gives Kryn a look that’s more disappointment than chastisement. “I’m just a bit let down that you weren’t forthright with me, that’s all. I’m going to go meditate.”

Kryn inwardly curses the fact that look actually works on her - she thought she’d have become inured to that by now - before she turns and points at the building across from her sanctuary. “We’ve set up a meditation area in there with benches and trees and some truly spectacular flowers. I’ll come get you when everyone else is here and ready.”

Shortly after Zal disappears into the building Kryn indicated, another shuttle dips low toward the landing zones. Kryn and Marr, standing on the edge of the paved stone, watch it touch down; Kryn silently counts the number of people that exit the shuttle. 

Ten.

“The entire Council came,” Marr murmurs at her side. “I admit, I'm surprised.”

Kryn has been fully prepared for Semiri to take Rictus’ place, utterly unconvinced he would actually come. Rictus, even more of a recluse than Marr, hasn’t been seen in person in decades, communicating with the Council and his apprentices via holocom. The only person rumored to have seen him anytime recently is his Second, Fal’rai, but that remains unconfirmed.

Nevertheless, at the end of the line of Councilors is a stooped man in a black robe. 

Atroxa reaches them first, her face solemn. “We are ready. With your leave, Darth Nox, we would meditate in the sanctuary for a time in final preparation.”

Kryn nods. “I will give final instructions to Lord Edrin, and request he bring Scourge in one hour.”

[5]  
The air in the sanctuary is heavy with the Force. Datacrons arranged along the walls softly glow in a myriad of colors, their whispers dancing just beyond the edge of hearing. A large stone slab sits in the center of the room, a length of rich black cloth draped over it. The Council has arranged itself in order of seniority in a semi-circle around this slab, illuminated in the ambient light of the datacrons as stars twinkle overhead, visible through the skylight, dotting Yavin’s night sky. At the head of the slab stands Zal’shana, hands clasped in front of her and her head bowed in meditation. Semiri stands just behind her in the same pose, ready to lend her strength to her sister.

The heavy stone door soundlessly slides open, guided on hidden mechanisms, and reveals Lord Edrin and Lord Jarax, bearing Scourge between them. Scourge’s face is drawn, pinched, and even in the low light Kryn can see how pallid he’s become. Zal lifts her head, noticeable sorrow in her eyes as she watches Edrin and Jarax escort Scourge to the stone slab and help him onto it.

“My lords.” Edrin bows deeply. “Darth Nox, shall we stay to observe and record for posterity?”

Kryn points to the closed door. “Yes. You’ll be able to observe clearly from just inside the doorway.” She thinks. “Or you can perch on the upper edge of the room, if you wish. I was going to put datacrons up there but haven’t gotten around to it yet. The walkway is narrow, but there should be room for both of you to at least sit somewhat comfortably.”

Edrin and Jarax exchange a look, then Force leap upward, landing on the walkway that rings the edge of the room. “This is excellent, my lord, we should be able to see everything,” Jarax says, activating his holorecorder as Edrin pulls out a small datapad, its light shielded by a small hood he’s attached to the top. 

Edrin nods at Kryn, and she in turn nods at Marr.

“Members of the Council,” he intones, his voice sonorous in the enclosed space. “You, the strongest of our order, have gathered in this sanctuary to lend your prodigious power to correcting our former emperor’s crime against one of our own. Our pursuit of immortality must not come at the expense of ourselves, our emotions, our senses, and it must not be thrust upon the unwilling. Thus, we seek to undo what has been done.”

He indicates Zal’shana. “Draw upon the Force with all your might, and this healer will manipulate it to restore Scourge to what he should be, rather than this pale mockery of life.”

As one, the Council turn their attention to Scourge. 

Zal’shana had expected the dark side to feel cold - decades of Jedi teachings are quite persuasive, after all - and her eyes widen at the spectrum of warmth, everything from the tepidity of an autumn afternoon to blistering heat charring at the edges. There’s wild energy, careening and bounding, running circles around careful, practiced order, and all of it a part of this crashing wave of Force such as she’s never seen, awesome and terrifying in its strength and its potential and its might.

She reaches out, searching for the wounds beneath the surface of Scourge’s skin. The nearly-healed sites where he’d had cybernetics until today are bright, but he’s mottled with darkness, thick like old scar tissue, that Zal can only surmise is the result of the emperor’s experimentation. It shifts like an oil slick, skittering away from her when she draws near. 

If it’s going to run, she’ll simply give it no place to run _to_.

She draws in the Force, releases it in a great swell that washes over the blackness. 

It fades, as though she’s washed away one layer of it, but does not disappear.

On the table, Scourge coughs, then rolls onto his side and retches, expelling an inky substance onto the floor of Kryn’s sanctuary. Semiri takes a step toward him, then stops.

“Go,” Zal says, though she sounds far away even to her own ears. “If I need you I’ll tell you.”

Semiri perches on the edge of the slab, taking one of his hands in hers. For a heartstopping second, he doesn’t respond, and then his fingers tighten around hers.

Zal bows her head and gathers the Force to her again.

[6]  
Daylight is breaking, dawn washing pale in the skylight overhead, though this goes unseen by the group gathered in the sanctuary. Zal’shana is swaying on her feet, a sheen of sweat on her brow. One last push, and Zal knows she can finally rest for a moment. She adds her own energy to that of the councilors, her gaze not wavering from where Scourge is stretched out on the slab in front of her, eyes closed, his fingers intertwined with Semiri’s.

Zal breathes in. Breathes out. Releases the last wave of healing.

The blackness washes away.

Her shoulders slump just as Scourge shudders, and her brow creases in consternation.

Something’s wrong.

Whatever the darkness is, it blooms virulent in his chest, wrapping around his lungs, his heart. His body, now unchecked by cybernetics, goes into overdrive. He tenses, shifts, features contorted in pain.

“No!” Semiri’s exclamation is loud in the stillness of the sanctuary as she clutches at his hand, cups his face, shakes him. “Zal! Zal, _please_ , don’t let this happen! He’s dying! Scourge, no!”

Zal draws on the Force, actively pulls it from the others in the room, nearly overwhelmed with the amount of energy she’s trying to contain and direct, but on the stone slab, Scourge stills.

Semiri’s shout, a wordless cry of anguish, rings off the stone walls; Zal reaches out and settles her hands onto Scourge’s shoulders, her breathing labored and wheezy, her vision growing dark at the edges. Kryn’s head snaps up, and she immediately moves to Zal’s side, taking her hand. On Kryn’s other side, Otium takes her other hand, and soon the assembled Councilors are standing in an unbroken circle, individual threads woven into a tapestry, the Force flowing like water between them and into Scourge.

Scourge gasps and bolts upright, one hand clutched to his chest. Zal stumbles but holds onto him, watching the virulence recede and finally disappear, replaced by a feeling of renewal, new growth, rebirth.

Semiri heaves a shuddering sob and throws her arms around Scourge.

Kryn and Zal are all but holding each other up; Kryn looks at the other Councilors, who all look as drained as Zal. All but Marr, of course, though she can feel his exhaustion even if she can’t see it. “Scourge, do you feel any different?”

“I …” He falls silent for a long moment. “ _Something_ is different,” he says, voice scratchy. “Time will tell what has changed, however.”

Edrin lands lightly slightly behind Kryn. “My lord, we’ll conduct an evaluation in a couple of days, once he’s had a chance to rest and recover from this procedure.” He can’t quite keep the excitement out of his voice. “Even if it’s only partially successful, it’s a phenomenal accomplishment.” He looks at Scourge. “We should get you back into the kolto tank, at least for today.”

[7]  
The Councilors - all but Marr - have departed, declining Kryn’s offer of hospitality after agreeing that all information pertaining to the ritual is classified and not for discussion outside the Council chambers. Their shuttle, loud in the early morning stillness, startles a flock of birds out of the nearby trees.

Edrin and Jarax are in their office, reviewing their notes and the holo.

In the medcenter, the single kolto tank burbles as Scourge floats within. Semiri is fast asleep in a chair next to the tank, and Zal’shana covers her with a blanket before settling into the chair next to her, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder, dark circles under her eyes.

Kryn and Marr doze on Kryn’s couch, forgotten datapads teetering in too-relaxed hands.

[8]  
Deep within a forest, where tranquility and careful cultivation has given way to untouched wildness and Force currents swirl around all in their path, something stirs.


	48. Expedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time for preparations has ended. Vitiate must be confronted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small canon deviation: Scourge is not the first Wrath, because I don't think the Emperor would actually not bother having his own personal executioner for seven hundred years and then go "oh I want one".

[1]  
Kryn sighs, disappointed, as the lift descends toward the Council chambers. She’d been hoping that meeting in the upper conference room would become the new routine, but Darth Marr is a creature of habit, rarely swayed from how he normally does things, and thus they’re meeting in the austere traditional room deep within the Citadel.

Gone are the days when she’d have to focus to sense him; she knows without even thinking about it that he’s still checking his messages, that he’s frustrated he’s running behind his set schedule, that he’s favoring his left leg just a bit. Not enough to be noticeable to anyone but her, but he’s doing so because _she_ twisted her left ankle while they were sparring last night and their bond is such now that what one of them feels, the other does also. Their self-imposed barriers blunt the effect, but can’t remove it entirely.

She supposes, as her mouth twists into a wry smile, that he ought to be glad they’ve never considered having children.

She taps the door panel, waits for the large doors to soundlessly slide open, and strolls across the large room, nodding at Councilors as she passes. Every chair but two are occupied; besides her own, only Marr’s stands empty.

“Do my eyes deceive me, my dear, or are you present at a Council meeting before our esteemed leader?” Vowrawn affects a look of mock shock. “Marr’s message _did_ say this meeting was of great import.”

Kryn chuckles as she settles into her seat. “It had to happen eventually; I’ve been on the Council for nearly three years now.”

Marr strides through the door, not waiting for conversations to die down before he begins speaking. “I don’t wish this meeting to drag on; events have been set in motion and we do not have time to waste. As you know, Darth Nox and I have been in pursuit of our former emperor for some time. We discovered his location but, as he had not acted and appeared to be unaware of our newfound information, continued our preparations rather than moving to confront him immediately.”

He pulls out his holocom and crosses the room, setting it on the chamber’s holocom, then touches a series of buttons. In the center of the room, a recorded hologram of Satele Shan flickers to life, looking quite unhappy.

“Darth Marr. I have been monitoring the … anomaly as you requested, and while it seems to have been slumbering peacefully for much of the time since last we talked, that all changed three days ago. It is stronger than it was, more noticeable, and it will not be long before others here notice it, if it continues at its current pace. If you have a plan, set it in motion sooner rather than later.”

Marr touches another button, and the image disappears. “The successful neutralization of the Hand and the success of the ritual with the former Wrath have gotten Vitiate’s attention, and thus our preparation time comes to a close. Darth Nox eliminated four of the Hand; that leaves eight, locations unknown.”

Mortis already has a datapad out, tapping on its screen. “I will enact emergency standby procedures for our home guard. Our rooting out of this little cult of his has been quite successful; even if we alert the remnants that are left, they’ll be no match for loyal Imperials.”

“I believe the Wrath is also in Kaas City at this time,” Kryn says, knowing full well Lysch is in the city, with no immediate plans to leave. “I would detach a cadre of Sith to serve under her for this duration, as well.”

Mortis nods. “An excellent suggestion. I should have confirmation from our battalion commanders before this meeting has ended, Marr.”

“The Hands will likely lead attack forces.” Callidus looks thoughtful, his facial tendrils twitching. “Unless what you did neutralized even those who weren’t present, we’re still dealing with the issue of how to defeat them.”

Kryn dashes off a quick message, receives a return message a few moments later. “Lord Edrin is sending you two formulas. One is a weaponized serum -”

“One that worked in a thoroughly unintended way?” A hint of a smile plays at the corners of Callidus’ mouth. “Those are the best experiment results.” His datapad chimes; he scans the screen. “I assume the other is the actual serum.”

Kryn nods. “Yes. Up to those of you guarding the home front if you want them taken alive or not. If you do capture one, I would keep them for further study - all of my captives are dead. If not -” She shrugs. “The decision rests with you. I won’t jeopardize the mission for my curiosity.”

“Darth Nox and I will be departing before the day is out,” Marr continues when the room falls silent again. “Our Seconds have been instructed to lead our spheres in our absence. Communication is uncertain once we reach Tython; ensure you have no unfinished business with either of us before we depart. Was there anything further from anyone else?”

Otium shakes her head. “I still can’t believe he ran to _Tython_. And that you managed to convince the Jedi to allow you to land, to say nothing of allowing you to kill Vitiate. Perhaps you’re in the wrong sphere, Marr.”

Before Marr can answer this, Vowrawn chuckles. “I thought you said this meeting would be of great import,” he says, a smirk on his face. “We all knew you and Nox were going to kill the Emperor. Momentous would have been the announcement of a secret elopement or something of that nature.”

It’s only through valiant effort that Kryn doesn’t dribble caf on herself as she makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. Marr ignores this, staring steadily at Vowrawn, in no mood to tolerate his friend’s ill-advised humor today. "And who did I marry, pray tell?“ He can’t resist what he says next. "Nox?”

“Oh, not me!” Kryn exclaims, holding her hands up as someone else in the room smothers a titter at the very notion of Nox and Marr being married. "No, it was ….“ She considers, and her face lights up when something occurs to her. "Atroxa! Definitely Atroxa. She’s serious, you’re serious. She likes beating on people with lightsabers, you like beating on people with lightsabers. Clearly, a match ordained by the Force itself.”

Atroxa, stern as always, shakes her head. “Darth Nox, a union of that nature would be ill-advised for a number of reasons, not least because two Councilors -”

“See!” Kryn crows. "Perfect for each other!“

“I do hope it wasn’t an elopement, my friend.” Vowrawn is utterly unconcerned by Marr’s lack of amusement. “I’d be hurt if you didn’t let me officiate your wedding.”

Lana’s normally neutral expression has given way to something bordering on mischievous. “Darth Atroxa, I know a number of lovely ateliers in the city, as does Darth Nox. If you haven’t chosen your dress yet, we’d be happy to arrange a shopping day.”

“Oh! I’d like to come.” Otium sits forward, a glint in her ebony eyes. “We can make it a Council outing.”

Not one to be left out, Nomas raises her hand. “We should look at jewelry while we’re out, too!”

“If you spin it properly, Atroxa,” Vowrawn says in a loud whisper, “you can put the entire cost on your expense report. After all, this is for the good of the Empire.”

Marr doesn’t look at Kryn, but he doesn’t have to, his voice surfacing in her thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud. _Explain._

 _You two are so serious. It’s entertaining to tease you. Besides, this is what you deserve for acting like being married to me would be so dreadful._ She grins when she can tell he’s scowling. _It’s a minor diversion, nothing more._

“I do not wear dresses.” Atroxa still looks disgruntled, but not nearly as much as she did before. “I wear armor.”

Vowrawn laughs outright. “Maybe Nox is right; you two are perfect for each other.”

Marr’s sigh is audible. “Does anyone have any actual business, or can I conclude this farce and get on with what I need to accomplish today?”

Mortis raises his hand, waits for Marr to acknowledge him, clears his throat. “If you need that marriage contract drawn up, Marr, just come by my office.”

“Even you, Mortis?” This time the room explodes in laughter as Marr folds his arms across his chest, sounding almost wounded. “I expected better from you.”

“I’m sorry, I simply couldn’t resist.” Mortis doesn’t look remotely sorry.

“Anyone _else_?” When the room stays quiet this time, he nods briskly. “Good. Darth Nox, I would prefer to depart before noon.”

Kryn consults her list of things she has left to do. “I’ll contact you as soon as I’m ready.”

“This meeting is adjourned.”

[2]  
“Andronikos, you and Xalek are in charge of defenses here.” Kryn drops her already packed travel bag onto the couch. “Get the turrets activated, seal off all but the garage door. You remember how we planned it out when we got this place.”

Xalek turns from where he’s staring out across the city. “Do we know the strength of the force we’ll be facing, my lord?”

“No. They may not even come here, but I would rather be too ready than not ready enough.” She consults her chrono. “And I’ve secured some extra -” The doorbell chimes, interrupting her. “Ah, there she is now.” Before Kryn can reach the door, it slides open. A tall woman in deep red, carbon-scored armor strolls in, followed by a short, slender woman with sleek black hair and implants and a Jawa.

“Hey, if I capture one of these Hand guys, I get a bonus, right?” Liinz grins widely. “I like bonuses.” She looks around with a critical eye. “Turrets outside. I’m sure you have lockdowns. We’ll set up a few toys of our own. Most important thing to guard?”

“The library,” Kryn says instantly, beckoning at the door on the back side of the living room. “That leads to my quarters, my library, everything. If they come here, I don’t want them trashing what I’ve managed to accumulate. Or stealing it. I had to go to great lengths to get some of those, especially the volumes about Revan, and I’ll be damned if I let Vitiate’s puppets steal them.”

The Jawa looses an impressive stream of chatter, and Liinz nods. “Yes, Blizz, you’ll guard that, along with …?” Liinz gives Kryn an inquisitive look.

“With me.” Xalek steps forward, inclining his head. 

Liinz raises an eyebrow. “Where’s the rest of your crew? Don’t you usually have a whole group here?”

“Ashara and Khem are still on Yavin 4, assisting with the defenses there. Talos is at the Citadel and should be back at the end of the day; he won’t change his routine unless there’s an imminent attack or one happens while he’s at work.” Kryn shoulders her bag. “Make yourselves at home, and I’ll see you when I get back.” She’s almost out the door when she remembers something. “Do keep your holocom close; Semiri and I plan on calling everyone when we’re en route to Tython.”

Liinz jogs over and throws her arms around Kryn. “Be careful. And come back.”

“Now, Liinz.” Kryn returns the hug, grinning up at her second youngest sister. “Ugh, who let you get so tall? Anyway, you know I’m never careful. It’s one of my best qualities. I’ll see you when I get home.”

[3]  
The sunset paints the sky in reds and blues and purples, and Semiri stands on the bridge, staring unseeing across the treetops of the Yavin forest. She hears familiar footfalls, but doesn’t turn.

“I’ve been searching for you.” Scourge slips an arm around her waist. “Something is weighing on your mind. It has been since the ritual.”

Her mouth thins into a bare line.

“Semiri.”

She whirls to face him. “You couldn’t have waited to do the ritual until _after_ we faced Vitiate?” Her blue eyes are flashing and she paces to the other side of the bridge, heedless of the waterfall spray dampening her face. “Why couldn’t you _wait_?”

Her words, her voice, they’re both angry … but underneath it, unspoken, is fear that she’s steadfastly refusing to acknowledge. She’s been distant in the days since the ritual, quiet and remote, carefully tracking the results of Edrin’s follow-up tests with a clinical air to rival any of the scientists in the compound. 

Now he understands why, and is only surprised she hasn’t mentioned it until now.

“Semiri.” When she doesn’t move, he crosses to her side again, settling his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. “I’ve been Vitiate’s servant for three hundred years. From my reading, I learned that I am the first Wrath that he _successfully_ managed to make immortal; the rest perished in the process. From my procedure came the Hands, who received the same treatment.” 

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t pull away from him, either, and he continues. “I am proof he isn’t as all-powerful as he believes, as infallible he believes. And I would rather face him as myself, as who I’m supposed to be, who I was before he got his hands on me, than as his thrall.” Scourge pulls Semiri into an embrace and presses a tender kiss to her forehead. “You understand, yes?”

“Yes. I just don’t like it.” She wraps one arm around his waist and rests her other hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss.

For a time, the only sound is the thundering water rushing past them, and then an overly dramatic sigh shatters the tranquility. “Ugh, you kids are _disgustingly_ cute,” Kryn says as she sails by, bound for the main building, a large bag on one shoulder and a locked case in her other hand. “I hope you’re not going to be like this all the way to Tython. I presume your ship is out front?”

Scourge arches one brow ridge and looks at Marr, who shrugs and shakes his head as he strides past. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Wrath. She’ll be calling you old soon enough. Are you two ready to leave?”

They catch up to Kryn, who’s stopped to talk to Edrin, inside the building. The man is wheezing like he’s just run an extended footrace, holding out a datacard.

“This is my planned project, my lord.” Edrin draws a deep breath, blows it out. “Pardon me, I wanted to be sure I caught you before you left. My methodology and anticipated results are in there, as well as a complaint lodged by Talos Drellik. I won’t begin until you give your approval, but if you have time to look it over on the way, I would appreciate it.”

Kryn tucks the datacard into a side pocket on her bag. “I’ll read it over at my earliest convenience, Edrin. Was there anything else? How is Scourge’s recovery coming?” The corner of her mouth pulls upward. “He’s not going to throw a hip or anything on this mission, is he?”

Marr does an exceedingly poor job of covering his laughter with a cough. “As I said, Wrath.”

But for a twitch of his lips, Edrin doesn’t react to Kryn’s jest. “He’s in excellent health. No loss of motor skills, no loss of faculties. In terms of time passed he’s three hundred forty-nine years old, but physically he’s much closer to forty, and a hale forty at that.” 

Kryn turns to her sister, wagging her eyebrows. “That true, Semiri? Physique of an incredibly healthy forty year old man?”

“What? How would I -” Semiri stops as her face flushes bright red, scowling when Kryn starts laughing. “Can we get on with this, please? I _believe_ we have somewhere to go?” Her spluttering outrage only makes Kryn laugh harder, and finally Semiri throws up her hands and stalks toward the front door, leaving the three Sith looking after her.

Kryn smothers the rest of her amusement and chases after Semiri. “Semiri, wait! I was just kidding!”

“Forty, I believe,” Scourge says as he and Marr cross the large room, as though the thought has just occurred to him, “is younger than you, Marr, is it not?”

“We can compare dates on our birth certificates, Scourge.” Marr falls silent until they catch up with the women. “After all, only one of us is a contemporary of Revan.”

Semiri heaves a disgusted sigh and makes her way up the ramp to the ship as Kryn looks over her shoulder, smiling beatifically. “That’s right, Darth Marr, you finally have someone to discuss the Battle of Corbos with!”

_Kryn, he is two hundred and eighty-six years older than I am, and you still can’t leave me out of these jests?_

_Take heart in the knowledge that, at least this time, you are not alone, Matthius_. Her smile widens into a grin. “Don’t scowl so hard; didn’t your mother ever tell you your face will stick like that if you keep doing it?”

“My mother wasn’t predisposed to dispense any such nonsense, Darth Nox, and if this much time in your company hasn’t frozen it this way by now, it’s unlikely to happen.” He indicates the ramp with a sarcastic little half-bow. “Shall we begin flight checks, or do you suppose Vitiate can wait while you run through your usual repertoire of insubordination?”

[4]  
Kryn pokes her head into the small conference room on the _Vigilant_ , raising an eyebrow when she sees its only occupants are Scourge and Marr, standing on opposite sides of the large table that dominates the room as they survey the strategy game board and its myriad little pieces.

“If I came over there and kicked the table leg right now …?”

Marr doesn’t look up from where he’s reaching for one of his pieces. “I have displayed extraordinary good humor about most of your attempts to get a rise out of me, _qilitzarai_. Suffice to say this would not be one of those times.”

“Are you losing?”

Marr grumbles and doesn’t answer, and Scourge chuckles. “He’s closer to losing than he expected.”

“Kryn!” Semiri’s voice comes to them from the direction of the ship’s holocom. “Are we calling everyone? We’re about an hour out from Tython.”

Kryn snaps a jaunty salute utterly ruined by the smirk on her face. “Better hurry up with this game of yours.” She makes her way through the ship and stops at Semiri’s side. “Let’s do it.”

Semiri dials in six frequencies in rapid succession, then steps back and watches the rest of her sisters materialize, blue and flickering. Their faces are too grim, too much worry sitting heavily on their features.

Zal is the first to speak. “How is Scourge, Semiri?”

Semiri nods. “Good. No residual effects save occasional headaches and what looks to be developing allergies.” She chuckles, though it sounds forced. “The first time he gets a cold it’s going to be a nightmare. Can you even imagine how terrible a patient he’s going to be?” This prompts an outburst among the other seven, all of whom are more than happy to detail the number of ways in which caring for an ill Semiri is a test worthy of the Jedi Order’s vaunted patience, and Semiri finally holds up her hands. “All right, all right! _Anyway_ , we’re about an hour out from Tython, so we … well, we wanted to call.”

“Rafana, Lysch, has anything happened?” Kryn sounds all business. “Have the Hands moved?”

Rafana shakes her head. “No. We’ve had no indication they plan to, either. The city is on alert, the edicts have been issued, Lana’s had most of us here in heavier shifts than normal. If something does happen, we’ll know. We’re ready.”

“I concur with Rafana’s assessment,” Lysch adds. “I’ve taken those Sith I’m told you requested be assigned to me and we’ve been keeping an eye on things.”

“Good.” Kryn falls silent.

Raitlia clears her throat. “We all know the mission is the most important thing. This is for the good of the whole galaxy, not just your respective orders, and you know if you say the word we’d all be there with you. Just ….” 

She stops, and Kryn waits for the rest of Raitlia’s usual motivational speech: _get it done no matter the cost_ and _we’re all counting on you_ and other such things that really get military types going. To her great surprise, however, Raitlia’s eyes look almost liquid, though that has to be a trick of the hologram; Raitlia has never been given to shows of emotion.

Nonetheless, Raitlia swallows hard before she speaks again. “Just come back, both of you, all right? All we have are each other, what with Fardon and Sai’rah going missing, and our family isn’t complete without you two.”

“Look,” Ca’ii says with a strained sort of cheerfulness, “we all know Kryn is going to go in there and sass Vitiate until he gives up, anyway, so I don’t know why we sound all doom and gloom. She’s going to get talking while Scourge and Semiri and Marr stand there looking all threatening, and finally he’s just going to lay down on the ground and promise to be nice _if only someone shuts that inquisitor up_.”

Kryn laughs outright at this. “I think if you take away Semiri’s chance to hit him with a lightsaber, she’s going to be very put out. She’s got a three hundred year old Sith to avenge, after all.”

“All right, all right, so what will actually happen,” Liinz interjects as Semiri swats at Kryn’s arm, “is that _they’ll_ start, and then Kryn will be the secret weapon that comes in at the end and just badgers him into submission.”

Semiri nods, pleased. “That I can work with.”

Darth Marr strides into the room. “Darth Nox. Satele Shan has been apprised of our arrival and is going to meet us at our landing site.”

“Oh, good. We’ll wrap this up and get ready to make landfall.”

Marr disappears in the direction of the cockpit and Kryn turns back to the holocom. “Well, that’s our cue.”

“Call us as soon as you’re back on the ship,” Raitlia says, sounding like she’s giving orders to unruly corporals. “I mean it. If you don’t call before you arrive back in the Empire I’m going to have Ca’ii smuggle me there so I can beat some sense into both of you.”

Kryn holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “We will, we will!” She pauses. “I couldn’t ask for a better group of sisters.”

Everyone talks at once, the chorus of well wishes and proclaimed _I love you_ s melting into nigh-unintelligible babble, before the holograms wink out one by one, leaving Kryn and Semiri standing together in front of the holocom. “All right,” Semiri says, “let’s do this.”

[5]  
The _Vigilant_ touches down in a clearing just a bit too small for it, branches snapping as the ship lands on the forest floor. Kryn can see half-buried durasteel under her feet as they debark, and wonders how long ago this landing area fell into disuse, and what it was originally used for. They’re not anywhere near the Jedi Temple, and there were no signs of civilization around them that she could see from the viewport as they landed.

But her curiosity will have to wait for another day; Satele Shan is standing at the edge of the clearing, hands clasped behind her back, watching the craft touch down and the ramp open. Semiri is the first off; the light breeze sets the edge of her cape fluttering as she strides toward the Grand Master of the Jedi Order.

“Master Sartoris. It has been some time. How fares your sojourn?”

She doesn’t sound angry or disappointed, merely curious, and Semiri wonders if they’ve finally moved past the tension that accompanied her announcement to depart from Tython, and to a degree, the Order itself. “It goes well, Grand Master. But it is good to be back on Tython, though I wish it were under happier circumstances.”

“As do I.” Satele looks past Semiri to where Nox and Marr have just stepped off the _Vigilant_ and are quietly conversing as they set an object into a lovely embroidered bag on Nox’s belt.

Their bond is readily apparent whether or not they intend it to be, and her planned greeting fades before she speaks it. She’s seen Force bonds before, of course; they often occur between master and padawan, and persist even after the padawan has become a knight in their own right. The bond between the Exile and Kreia was the subject of much speculation by their contemporaries; a small volume of musings on the matter, written by the Exile herself, sits in the library. But Sith … it’s a matter of common Jedi knowledge that Sith don’t form such things, that they don't care that deeply. They’re too independent and self-centered for something like that to happen; they see it as a weakness that cannot be tolerated. 

Nonetheless, a bond between two Sith is practically staring her in the face, bright and vibrant.

It reminds her of the trees in this part of Tython’s forest: wide and sturdy, with deep roots and uncountable branches, stretching between them and enveloping them both. Nox murmurs something and brushes her hand across his gauntlet as she turns toward Semiri, smiling when he replies; it’s as if the whole bond seems to _glow_ for a moment, and Satele wonders if perhaps they’ve been wrong. 

She’ll have to think on this later.

“Darth Marr. Darth Nox. Lord Scourge.” Satele inclines her head, and the three Sith do the same. “I hope this plan of yours works.”

Kryn grins. “It’ll work. My plans always work.” She ignores Marr shifting next to her, undoubtedly to fold his arms and give her A Look. “It would be nice to have a bit of tea when we’re finished; I’m going to be famished after finally ridding the Empire of this nuisance.”

Satele looks at Marr. “The Empire certainly chooses … _unique_ individuals to govern.”

“As we should.” He shifts his weight to his right leg. “However, we don’t have time for niceties. Where have you sensed him?”

Satele points into the forest. “Roughly four or five kilometers due east. But before you leave, I would know your plan.”

“Suffice to say our plan is not one from the Jedi archives.” Kryn tilts her head as though listening to something. “Close. And stirring. It’s probably safe to say he knows we’re here.” 

Marr nods. “We expected as much. Let us proceed with all due haste. We can speak more when we return if you so require, Grand Master.”

Satele watches the four depart, staring into the forest long after they’ve disappeared from view.


	49. Bind the Unbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vitiate is revealed, and the Empire goes on high alert.

[1]  
This far from the temple and any civilization, the forest is overgrown, tree branches twisting every which way as they shade the rich, loamy ground underfoot. The air is warm and stifling; almost none of the breeze that disturbs the leaves overhead manages to reach them, and underneath the smell of abundant growth is something unpleasant, a bare hint of decay that seems to flit away as soon as one tries to focus on it.

When they set out, the sounds of a living forest were all around them: insects and birds, small animals scurrying away and large animals tromping in the distance. The farther they’ve come, the more the tomb-like atmosphere has increased, and now the only disturbance is the four of them as they draw ever closer to Vitiate. Here and there Kryn spots trees that seem to be leached of life: mere husks, more the idea of a tree than an actual tree. They begin to appear with more frequency, and she knows they’re nearly there.

They step between two such trees into a large, sunny clearing bordered on the far side by a fall of massive rocks, the light casting shifting patterns on the ground as it shines through dead branches devoid of foliage. Every tree bordering this clearing has been touched by the miasma, barely clinging to life, only the slimmest thread of the Force remaining in it.

It looks like Ziost, and Kryn finds it difficult to draw enough of a breath to satisfy her protesting lungs.

_The traitors show themselves at last. I presume you’re here to once again fail at besting me? Or have you accepted that you should swear your allegiance to the only true ruler of this galaxy? Shall we see who you’ve brought to die today?_

Vitiate’s words sound as though they’re coming from directly behind her, and it’s all Kryn can do to not turn around and look. He’s not there, and she won’t give him the satisfaction of making her jump. The other three ignore this as well, breaking for the center of the clearing as Kryn strides toward a large stone slab, almost as tall as she is.

_Darth Marr, the so called defender of the Empire. You stand on the homeworld of your sworn enemies, pursuing a battle you cannot possibly win, as my Hands demolish your precious capital city, as my servants destroy your precious Citadel. You will defend an empire of rubble, an empire of the broken, should I deign to leave you alive to see what your folly has wrought._

Marr adjusts his grip on his lightsaber hilt, the only sign he heard Vitiate at all. Behind him, Kryn sets the relic on the stone and draws a deep breath, narrowing her focus to the words already echoing in her mind.

 _A Jedi. A fallen Jedi, no less, but not one strong enough to join the Sith. A pointless nuisance._ Vitiate chuckles when Semiri’s shoulders straighten even more. _And my Wrath, my faithful servant to whom I gave immortality, that you might serve me forever. What do you do? You run to the Republic, to the Jedi, thinking in all your arrogance that you could destroy me. I care not for your visions and your misguided beliefs; the Force bows to **my** will, not I to it. This Jedi of yours has tried to kill me twice and failed both times, and not only do you stand by her, you discard the gift I gave you. Would that any other Wrath of mine had survived the process instead of you._

“You think to make me jealous of the dead?” Scourge sounds almost amused. “I was never your faithful servant; merely biding my time until your destruction became inevitable. The Empire has no need of you any longer, if it ever did.”

Vitiate ignores this. _And the little alien who thinks she makes a difference. Who thinks she’s free. Who thinks she matters. I have entertained **that** delusion quite long enough._

“You mean to face us, then?” Marr surveys the trees, rests his thumb on the activation switch of his lightsaber. “Or do you plan to hide behind yet more mind-controlled minions like the coward you truly are?”

Scourge laughs outright this time. “Our esteemed leader will always let someone else do the fighting for him. The last time he lowered himself to actually engage in combat, a Jedi Knight dropped half the Dark Temple on his head and he had to scurry off to Yavin 4 to regroup.” 

_So sure of yourselves. Let’s see if you can survive the coming onslaught._

A low rumble from somewhere deeper in the forest reaches them, growing steadily louder. Creatures of all shapes and sizes burst into the clearing: horranths to mankas and even a few Flesh Raiders, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, all of them panicked and raging. A guid whips its head around and stares at Kryn before it pelts toward her, its advance only halted when Semiri lands in its path, her twin sabers swinging in a vicious arc.

“We’ll keep these things busy!” she shouts over her shoulder at her sister. “Do what you have to do.”

Kryn takes a deep breath, cups her hands around the relic. She’s practiced the incantation for months, and now the words come easily, weighty with the Force as it gathers around the intricately carved box.

“ _Wolir tsinudor; tuzir tuzemwai_.”

The once-silent space in front of her has been transformed into a maelstrom. The ground shakes under her feet as dead leaves fall from dead branches, the air rent by growls and screeches and ululations, all punctuated by the sound of four lightsabers in motion. The Force ripples outward from the relic, its tendrils questing and _hungry_ , and she’s distantly surprised that Vitiate has not yet turned his attention to her. A flame tygah collapses, felled by Marr’s saber, smoke rising from the charred leaves underneath it. Marr doesn’t linger over his victory, immediately pivoting to attack an uxibeast that has sent Scourge flying. The air is thick with dust, the clearing turned into nothing so much as a gladiatorial arena.

“ _Dwomutir qyâfek su raiskaz; tuzir tuzemwai_.”

This time, Vitiate’s regard settles on Kryn, heavy and cold and cruel. _I will not be manipulated by such a lowly creature_. His chuckle holds nothing but malevolence, and though it seems to come from all around her, the tendrils reaching out from the relic pause, then change direction as one. Kryn doesn’t stop to watch them, instead reaching deeper within herself for the next part of the incantation. The sounds of battle have faded away, and all she can hear are the words echoing in her head, the branches snapping under her feet, her slow and steady breaths, her heartbeat.

“ _Qapir lâmtirkut su tûlin; tuzir tuzemwai_.”

The phrase rings across the clearing as the last guid falls to Scourge’s crimson blade, and the three combatants move into an attack formation amid the fallen onslaught.

They watch. They wait.

For the first time, Vitiate sounds uneasy, the words delivered with more bluster than usual. _You think to command the power far beyond your own ability! You cannot frighten me with your tricks, alien, no matter what forgotten vault you pried them from_.

One side of Scourge’s mouth twitches upward in a mocking sneer. “You have always been the most frightened among us: terrified of an uncertain future, terrified of Sith who do not bow and scrape.” 

Vitiate’s attention flickers from Kryn to Scourge, his anger growing.

“Indeed, the self-appointed Sith Emperor is now and has always been a mockery of our code, our way of life, our philosophy,” Marr continues. “He turns his servants into emotionless husks. Destroys worlds for his own gain. Turns upon his own people. Runs from death like a squellbug from a tuk’ata.”

Semiri laughs. “And here I thought Sith were supposed to be fearless, unshackled in a way Jedi will never understand. I guess that was just Imperial propaganda.”

Vitiate now ignores Kryn entirely, his outrage flaring white-hot at the flagrant disrespect. _What do you hope to accomplish with this? No matter how you try to goad me, you can do nothing but fight the minions I send against you. I am untouchable. I am immortal!_

“In your current form, yes.” Marr makes no effort to scrub the smugness from his voice. “But you remain in that form only because you know if you were to face us properly, you would not survive. Thus, all that is required of us is to force you into a physical form. And that is what Darth Nox has done.”

 _What_ -

Vitiate snaps back to Kryn, but she doesn’t notice as she takes a deep breath, all her concentration focused on commanding the seeking tendrils to find their quarry.

“ _Kisir midwandor; tuzir tuzemwai!_ ”

The tendrils, previously so uncertain, shoot through a cleft between two of the largest rocks.

[2]  
The Citadel is on high alert and has been since Darth Marr and Darth Nox departed, the atmosphere within the stately and imposing walls tense. Sith of all ranks and spheres find themselves standing with their hands hovering close to their saber hilts, a habit most break shortly after arriving from one of the Empire’s academies. Even Barash is uneasy; his customary smile is taut and his military issue blaster pistol, never seen in the Citadel, is strapped to his thigh.

Atroxa, Mortis, and Callidus gather around Darth Marr’s war table as Bryasere surveys a map of the Kaas megalopolis, her hands splayed flat on the top of the table. “Unless they were delayed, the strike team should be landing on Tython today, which means if Vitiate has a plan, he will put it into action while they are unable to reach us.”

“If it’s anything like Ziost, his goal has no grounding in strategy.” Atroxa’s brow furrows, her mind running through likely scenarios. “If he wanted to take the Empire back, he would focus on the Citadel and on concentrations of power, but Ziost put the lie to the belief that the Emperor cares at all for his people.”

No, Vitiate has made it abundantly clear he has abdicated his responsibilities, which means Bryasere must abandon traditional targets and approach any impending attack as coming from an insurgency. “If he’s going to launch an offensive, it will be purely punitive in measure. He’s a child throwing a tantrum.” She highlights the temple, the Citadel, the fisheries, the industrial zone, the spaceport. “He’ll want to cause havoc, and that will be best accomplished with these targets. All we can do is be prepared.”

Atroxa nods, her eyes narrowed to slits as she touches a button and magnifies the city proper, then dashes off a message on her datapad. “I’ll send specific orders to enhance security in those areas.” 

Bryasere touches a series of keys and waits until sections of the city begin to glow. “Here are the current troop assignments. I’ll continue monitoring here; Atroxa, you are welcome to join me if there isn’t anything specific you need in your office.” She watches lights move around the city. “The Legion has been on standby this entire time, as well.” She lifts her head and looks over the map at Darth Callidus. “Callidus, have your weapons from Darth Nox’s prototypes been delivered? If you have extras, I can suggest where to send them.”

Callidus nods, sounding entirely too cheerful for the situation at hand. “They have indeed, with instructions for commanders. I still have one runner out, bound for Qoshrajakzândor, and will be informed when they return.”

“Good.” Bryasere glances at the map, then turns sharply and activates another on the wall. “The home guard knows what to do, and this isn’t the first time we’ve fought our own. We will persevere. Just the same, I’d like to run some scenarios.”

[3]  
Corporal Oraina Zairaj, a Cathar with dappled tan and black fur and bright green eyes, joined the Imperial Army in the enlistment rush after Malgus’ defeat, determined to demonstrate her loyalty to the Empire.

The Empire has its share of flaws, of course - its tendency to heavy-handed punishment, its glacial pace when it comes to recognizing the contributions of aliens, the privileges granted Sith above all others, just to name a few - but at least they’re straightforward about it, which raises them above the Republic in Oraina’s estimation. She’s watched with swelling pride as the Council all but shoves the Empire toward change: appointing aliens to the Council, declaring slavery anathema and proclaiming all former slaves full citizens in one sweeping declaration, reaching out with diplomacy and an open hand instead of domination and a closed fist.

She was disappointed when she was assigned to the Kaas home guard instead of active duty on a starship or one of the Empire’s growing number of worlds, and has been waiting for the chance to put in for a transfer so she can put her training and skills to use. When the call came in early this morning from Captain Sashylar, ordering her to a new sentry post near the gates of the city, she was ecstatic.

Oraina adjusts her position on her chair and peers down through her scope again, scanning the wide road and the surrounding jungle for anything out of the ordinary. There’s some rustling among the undergrowth, but it’s too soon to tell if it’s something she’ll need to alert command for, or if it’s just another lazy sleen. “See anything yet, Vumash?”

When he doesn’t answer, Oraina bites back a snippy comment. Zimaro Vumash has been almost shockingly open about how much he disagrees with the Council’s new direction, perhaps spurred on by the poor example set by some of their senior enlisted and officers, and had made no effort to hide his look of distaste when he’d seen her waiting by the door to the sentry post this morning. All she wants is for this duty to go smoothly, and if that means being the civil person, then so be it.

“Vumash, have you -” 

The words dry up in her mouth when she feels the barrel of a blaster pistol pressed to her temple.

“Put your rifle down, alien.”

Oraina does, leaning it against the wall in front of her.

Vumash, a stocky human with dark brown hair, darker eyes, and a permanent scowl on his face, makes a disgusted noise. “The Empire was strong before the Council lost its way and started letting you … you _refuse_ run everything. They didn’t want to learn, and now they’re going to pay. All of you are.” He presses the blaster pistol even harder against her head. 

Oraina drives her elbow back into his stomach, reaching up to grab the blaster pistol as it falls away from her head. She twists it hard and yanks it out of his hand, heedless of his shout of pain, then leaps to her feet and trains the weapon on him.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Squeeze the trigger.

Vumash collapses, dead.

Oraina taps in a frequency as she sits back in her chair and picks up her sniper rifle again, training her gaze on the jungle again. “Captain Sashlayar, this is Corporal -”

“Corporal!” The captain is almost spluttering with anger. “This is most irregular; contact your -”

“Sir, this is important! My fellow sentry just tried to kill me, and I have a lot of movement in the trees outside the city entrance. Something is happening.”

As she watches, two Purebloods, a man and a woman, step out of the trees and walk purposefully toward the city.

[4]  
As Kaas City expanded, walls were torn down and districts began to bleed over into one another, with one exception: Qoshrajakzândor. Colloquially known by non-Pureblood residents of Kaas City as the Scarlet District, it presides over a vast western section of Kaas City. The tall stone walls that delineate its borders are elegantly carved, art and function going hand in hand, and remain insulation between Purebloods - the best of the Empire, or so any of them will tell you, likely without prompting - and everyone else.

Qoshrajakzândor translates to _the home of our children_ , and it is a place of refuge for a people with a long cultural memory full of the threat of extinction, be that by violence from the Jedi or through cross-breeding. Closest to the city proper are shops: salons, ateliers, armorsmiths, goods of every shape and color and size. Restaurants dot the streets, spices wafting through the air, offering specialities from all facets of Pureblood cuisine. While non-Purebloods are not expressly forbidden by law, they are very rare. Slaves (at least until the edict forbidding owning slaves was declared) or servants are escorted everywhere and never left to their own devices, and even the rare non-Pureblood spouse is watched more closely than they’d be anywhere else. 

The streets, normally bustling from early in the morning til long after darkness has enveloped the planet, are more empty than usual in light of the activation of the home guard across Kaas City. While most in the Kaas home guard follow Imperial military unit protocols and are considered part of the Imperial Army, the Crimson Legion is a military force unto itself. Protectors of Qoshrajakzândor from threats both internal and external, their numbers are entirely Pureblood Sith, comprising five cohorts of six companies each. 

Several blocks stand nearly deserted, their merchants and proprietors and artists on active patrol throughout the Scarlet District. Qadit Rokimuchar, executive officer of Cresh Company, Second Cohort, locks her front door, makes a minor adjustment to her armor, and listens to the near-continual stream of chatter in her ear before tapping the comlink on her wrist. “Lord Jarach, Cresh Company has begun patrols for the day. Have our areas of responsibility changed?”

She waits longer than anticipated for Second Cohort’s commander, a gruff scientist who never quite seems to shake the smell of whatever he’s currently working on in his laboratory. “No, but once you’ve concluded your patrol, check in with Ashapaikût and Tyûkpaikût. Those gates are most likely to face an attack from within the city, and Lord Algrei believes that if any of the remaining traitors are going to strike, it will be at the heart of the capital, rather than our outlying settlements and homes.”

If Algrei is prepping them for an attack within the city, Qadit is inclined to believe an attack is likely imminent. “Is Kissaipaikût secure? It’s across the district from Ashapaikût, but I can take a speeder. And if they’re bent on a demoralizing victory, attacking the temple would do it.”

“We sent two squadrons to reinforce that gate per Lord Algrei’s orders, and Kissaishoich is also on alert.” Jarach falls silent for a moment. “Though I doubt they’d attack the Temple.”

Qadit can’t help her snort of derision. “Our esteemed leader decimated Ziost just because he could. Who knows what zealots will do in his name, to people _they_ see as traitors?”

“Point taken. I’ll speak to the other commanders, see if they have anyone to spare to send over there. I’m -”

Qadit gasps as an explosion shatters the silence. Smoke rises in the direction of Ashapaikût, and the communications channel erupts as everyone begins shouting at once.

[5]  
Kryn’s apartment is often busy and full of people, and Talos isn’t sure why _this_ time it has him so on edge. Her sisters come over. Andronikos has get-togethers. Even Reclamation Service colleagues have come by to make use of Kryn’s extensive library.

In all those times, though, they’ve never had guards. 

Liinz plays it off when he mentions it, but she’s walking patrols around the house, and has been all three days that Kryn has been gone. She’s checked in with Talos in the morning after he’s arrived at his office, and in the afternoon when he’s getting ready to leave. While he appreciates the concern, he’s finally decided to ask her to relax a little bit; she’s far less intense than Lysch, and he’s reasonably certain the conversation won’t go poorly.

He doesn’t notice the speeders that fall into a too-casual formation behind him as he makes his way through the Capital District.

[6]  
The faint smell of rot fairly explodes through the clearing as _something_ is dragged from the crevasse in the rocks. It looks like smoke, though it isn’t; it folds in on itself, pushed and pulled every which way, its muted tones shifting in such a way that Scourge is sure he sees faces in it, multitudes of faces drawn in a rictus of horror and painted in mottled grays and blacks.

It begins to appear somewhat humanoid, four limbs of sorts stretching out and away from the center, before it shifts into a more beastlike silhouette, then into one of a creature that Semiri has never seen and can’t identify before it melts away again. Mouths open across its surface, emitting a scream that is part rage, part agony and half heard, half _felt_ before disappearing. 

The twisting mass is dragged to the nearest corpse, that of a fallen Flesh Raider, the tendrils tightening until both they and their captive disappear into the body. It stands, one arm hanging limp and useless at its side, and then the flesh begins to stretch and distort. Its back and shoulders shift, bones cracking as they do, culminating in a bony ridge protecting the creature’s head and neck. Red, baleful eyes glare out from its eyestalks. Spikes rise along its arms as its fingers elongate and taper into points, bone protruding through the fingertips. Its head ridges enlarge, mutating into razor-sharp finlike constructions. The lightsaber wounds scattered across its skin break open, weeping fluids.

The creature opens its mouth and roars, spittle flying from between the pointed teeth that have shredded its mouth, and charges toward Kryn.


	50. The Force Shall Free Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All paths have led here, to this final confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient with me! Writer's block kicked my ass on this chapter, and then I got caught up in election news, and ... well, it took a lot longer than I thought it would. I hope it was worth the wait. <3

[1]  
The battle for the soul of the Empire rages across multiple worlds in skirmishes large and small, from the clash at the Citadel to the edge of Imperial space.

Sasu Takat steps between a defiant Togruta family and her own brother, lightsaber igniting with a hiss as she looks at crimson skin and features so like her own and yet unrecognizable, twisted with hate. She knew he’d been listening to the talk around the settlement of “reclaiming” the Empire, but she didn’t realize until now how fully he’d absorbed that ridiculous sentiment. 

Nautolans restrain a Kaas Fisheries supervisor with murder in his eyes amid cries of “do to him what he’d do to us” and exhortations to dump his lifeless body into Dartaz Qapar. Cooler heads prevail, and the blaster pressed to the supervisor’s temple is slowly, reluctantly dropped as one binds his wrists and feet and another contacts the police.

Kolvic Ivicob gathers his slaves - his _servants_ , he corrects himself with a look of distaste as he activates his lightsaber. He’s been quietly agitating for greater support of the Vitiatum since a fellow member of the Science Bureau alerted him to their existence, and is ready to join their attack as soon as he takes care of this business here. The rabble in front of him is too confident, too _defiant_ , looking right at him like he’s their equal instead of at their feet. He’d rather die than see his Empire turned over to these barely sentient monstrosities, but he won’t be the one dying today.

It’s not that she hates aliens, Jukayl Moas thinks, drawing the hood of her black cloak over her head. After all, the Umbarans do their job well, and plenty of others have their place in the Empire … but that place has limits, has boundaries, and when someone like Darth Nox comes in, with no knowledge of how things work and how the Empire operates, and tries to change everything, then the Empire becomes unstable. She eyes her holocom, the sole method by which Fal’rai contacts Rictus’ corps of assassins, and leaves it on her bureau before leaving her house, monitoring military communications as she searches out one of the insurgency commanders.

Oraina Zairaj doesn’t flinch when the business end of a deactivated lightsaber is pressed to her chest. “I’m willing to die for the Empire,” she says, staring steadily at the snarling Pureblood on the other end of it as she snatches something off her belt. “Are you?” Her grenade takes out the building, obliterating the enemy forces on the lower floors and raining debris into the streets.

[2]  
The four speeders pull up short as Talos disappears into Kryn’s garage. One peels off from the group, circling the building.

“Garage is sealed off, two turrets on the guest landing pad, and a shockingly large structural weakness in the large windows.” Derision practically drips off the words. “It’s as our Emperor says: the rabble are unfit to lead. She cares not for even her own power base, leaving it as unguarded as she has. She’s long past due for the punishment she so richly deserves.”

One of the speeders pulls up below the guest landing pad. “Agreed, Servant Six.” Servant Five stares at the person in the passenger seat until they look over at her, then jerks her head toward the landing pad. “Oranch, disable the turrets. Remain undetected.”

The woman, a Pureblood with a cleanly shaven head and sharp, angular features, nods once, then touches a button on her gauntlet, disappearing from view. A muted thump announces her landing above the speeder, and after a long moment of silence, her voice whispers across the comm connection. “There are motion detectors, but I should be able to plant the charges on the windows and we can launch our attack. Orders?

“Plant the charges.” Servant Five settles her helm onto her head. 

Kryn’s floor-to-ceiling windows explode inward, showering the main room in transparisteel and sending Liinz diving behind one of the couches, hand already going for her blaster. 

“We’re under attack!” she shouts, somewhat unnecessarily, into the comlink on her wrist. “Get to your objectives!”

[3]  
Captain Talieste Laigoss loathes house to house fighting. Better to just level a few blocks and send the rest of the rats running, in her view of things. This time, however, traitors have had the sheer, unmitigated gall to attack Kaas City, and leveling sections of the capital is not a viable option. Given the muted explosion from the direction of the Scarlet District and the sudden wave of comm chatter a few minutes ago, they’re already going to be rebuilding, and there’s no reason to increase the economic burden left after this uprising is put down for good.

The situation would be even more untenable if anyone within the traitors’ ranks had a lick of tactical sense, but luckily for the home guard, their attackers are determined to display their loyalty to their doomed cult, scarlet cloth tied around their left biceps practically a beacon among the forces fighting in the city.

Talieste peeks around the corner of the building she’s crouched beside, surveying the wide boulevard in front of her. Bodies litter the ground, insurgents and loyalists alike. Blaster fire echoes between the towering buildings, punctuated by durasteel plates in fierce hand to hand combat. She sees movement a good distance away just as her comlink activates.

“Commander headed your way, Laigoss!” Colonel Raknis Becharan, commanding officer of the 4th Kaas Battalion, is harried and breathless. “Got a runner from Cresh on the way through side roads with some of the improv weapons from Biotic Science, but it’ll take a few minutes for them to arrive.”

Talieste taps a button on her wrist. “Copy that, we’ll keep the target engaged until the runner arrives.” Another button press, and she changes frequency. “All right, Headquarters, time to show Aurek, Besh, and Cresh how it’s done! Converge on the commander, the Pureblood near Arstan Arms. Be advised, target is a Force user and insurgent leader; they are high priority and extremely dangerous.”

“The mission elimination, Captain?”

She watches the platoon in front of her finish putting down their opponents then begin to move toward Arstan. “Waiting on something special from Biotic Science for that, Sergeant. Containment only. Keep him busy.”

[4]  
Ashapaikût, the Gate of Victory, main entrance into Qoshrajakzândor, is unadulterated chaos.

Pieces of rubble are still falling from the jagged edges of the once-elegant wall, the gate itself completely obliterated. Lightsabers hum, hissing and popping as they clash. The scent of ozone is heavy in the air, rolls of thunder punctuated by cries of “traitor!” on both sides. Alchemists contort their physical characteristics, elongated claws and razor sharp teeth slicing through skin like a hot knife through butter.

The longer she fights, the angrier Qadit grows, heedless of the blood running down her temple and the wounds on her arms. It’s not enough for the Jedi to be a constantly looming threat, the Republic’s chancellor hellbent on destroying them, she thinks as she yanks her lightsaber out of a now-dead opponent; now their _own_ are coming after them, their minds and devotion diseased, tainted, fixed on the Emperor instead of the Empire, and they’re willing to see it all burn in his name.

They may be willing, but they’ll have to go through her to do it.

She hears rapidly approaching footsteps - more than one person, she can already tell - and whirls to meet the approaching threats head on, her saber already up and poised for any number of killing blows. Five of the traitors surround her, and Qadit is driven back slowly but surely, even though she takes out two of them in short order. One circles and presses his attack, and she drops to one knee, scowling as she does so. She manages to take one out at the knees before her saber is kicked out of her hand, a stomach-turning crunch accompanying the flare of pain in her wrist.

She’s more disappointed about dying on her knees than she is about dying in general, really.

As the woman in front of her raises her saber, her chest blooms red, cruel smile twisting into shock. The lightsaber that pierced her chest is yanked backward and the woman is tossed aside like so much rubbish, revealing the Empire’s Wrath. Lysch’s amber eyes soften for a split second as she looks at Qadit, even as the man behind Qadit falls dead, his throat crushed. 

“Darth Ainyar.” Lysch stretches out her hand, calls Qadit’s lightsaber to it.

Qadit stands and takes the proffered saber. “My lord Wrath.”

“Join me. We will cut a swath through these dogs.”

“Gladly.”

[5]  
Corporal Sarak Ashlatir presses one hand to his chest, unable to get enough air as he opens the door to the sniper post. He’s run full speed across a large section of the Capital District, trying to get his package delivered before Captain Laigoss’s people are defeated.

The slight human seated at the window, Sergeant Kashi Graada, is the battalion’s best sniper, with three Army-wide competition trophies to show for it. She’s been tracking the insurgency commander most of the morning, finally ending up on the top floor of this building as Captain Laigoss and her soldiers hold the Pureblood at bay. She doesn’t look up from her scope when Sarak speaks. “Ashlatir, do you have it?” she asks, extending one hand.

“I -” He gulps for another breath. “I do, Sergeant.” He unwraps the small bundle he removes from a pocket on his chest and places a dart into her hand. “I’m not too late, am I?”

She doesn’t answer, fitting the dart into a casing and loading her rifle. 

Down on the ground, Talieste analyzes the situation even as she sprints toward Sergeant Droku Mahine, coming up behind the Pureblood. The Twi’lek has been harrying their target but she’s beginning to flag, and the Pureblood senses it; Talieste is closing in when her comlink beeps.

“Captain Laigoss, Sergeant Graada. Have an eye and a bead on your target. Your soldier is in the way. Briefing on these darts says they’re dangerous to people around the target.”

Talieste nods as she vaults over a piece of rubble. “On it.”

Droku staggers back, wincing, as the Pureblood - one of these so-called “servants of the Empire” - smashes his lightsaber hilt into Droku’s arm. Her rifle clatters to the ground, and she’s already dropped into a fighting stance when she sees Captain Laigoss hurtling toward them. Talieste maneuvers smoothly around the Pureblood and drops her shoulder, tackling Droku out of the line of fire.

They collapse in a heap, and before Servant Nine realizes what’s happening, Sergeant Graada pulls the trigger, and the dart lodges itself in his back.

Droku and Talieste watch in horror, unable to look away as he erupts in boils, an inhuman shriek piercing the air. He vomits black bile that splashes onto both Droku and Talieste’s boots, instantly eating pits into the durasteel and sending the two of them scrambling backward. When the boils burst, Droku clambers to her feet and stumbles a few steps away, ripping her helmet off and throwing it aside before she vomits.

After what seems like an eternity, there’s nothing left of Servant Nine but a black stain on the thoroughfare. Talieste gingerly scuffs at it with her already-damaged boot, then looks back in the direction the sniper shot had come from.

Up in the sniper nest, Graada and Ashlatir exchange a stunned look. 

“By the _Emperor_ ,” Ashlatir mutters. “What in blazes was in that?”

Graada snorts, already looking back through her scope as Talieste and Droku brush themselves off and head farther into the city. “Whatever it was, it was effective. And don’t say his name, he’s not our Emperor.” She taps a button on her gauntlet. “Target down, sir. Where to next?”

[6]  
Blizz unleashes a torrent of chatter as he and Xalek contend with three assailants, preventing their entry into Kryn’s library. Blaster marks pepper the once-pristine walls, as well as the artwork and statuary. Lightsaber scoring discolors the still-sealed door. Each step sends rubble out from under their feet, clattering across the floor.

“Yes,” Xalek says as his lightsaber blocks an attacker’s. “Their techniques are woefully inadequate. They should be ashamed of their training. The Council should be notified of this pervasive weakness.” He fires lightning at the human in front of him until she collapses onto the ground, unconscious, then immediately pivots to confront another.

In the main room, Andronikos and Liinz are in a standoff with three more of the attacking force, keeping them pinned behind the couch just below the now-shattered window. A concussion grenade comes sailing toward Liinz as two of the assailants rush Andronikos’ position; she bats it away but it bounces behind Andronikos just as it goes off, tossing him and the two humans across the room. He hits the wall and falls into a heap, breathing but unconscious. Mako takes the opportunity to bash the two stunned enemies in the head with the butt of her pistol, grinning with satisfaction when they too collapse, unconscious.

“They’re through!” Talos, posted as watch, shouts as he dashes across the room to Andronikos’ side, kolto in hand. The two Servants had attempted to get into the house through the garage, thinking to trap the occupants in a pincer maneuver, but hadn’t counted on Talos’ presence of mind; he’d immediately locked the garage door and enabled the never-used blast door. 

Liinz makes a face. “Shit. At least most of this is handled. Blizz?”

The Jawa fires a barrage of blaster bolts at the one remaining attacker, then nods with satisfaction.

“Then all we have left are the immortal servants, no big deal,” Liinz says cheerily, ignoring the fact that her sister’s apartment looks like a war zone. “Everyone get ready; at least there’s only one path from the garage to here.”

[7]  
The battle for the soul of the Empire stretches all the way to Tython, made manifest in the sweep of lightsabers, the dull thud as flesh connects with flesh. The air is thick with ozone, a natural side effect of the howling tempest surrounding Kryn, a writhing Force storm so bright that it’s painful to look directly at her as she holds Vitiate in a physical manifestation.

Vitiate’s open wounds, many of them killing blows for normal creatures, weep but are ignored as he shows no sign of flagging, fending off Semiri, Scourge, and Marr. He plants one foot hard and swings wide, the spikes along his arm catching Scourge full in the chest as he knocks his former servant away like a nexu swatting a bug. Scourge collapses unmoving a short distance away.

“There’s one.” Vitiate sends Marr flying back into a tree without touching him, his attention already off the Sith and focused on Semiri as Marr falls to the ground. “Accept you cannot kill me and perhaps I will make your deaths equally quick.”

Semiri’s panic, a sharp needle in her chest, rapidly explodes into white-hot anger. Her twin blades, blue and violet, become a blur as she flings herself at Vitiate. The ferocity of her attack drives him backward, her frustrated shout sending something deep within the forest stampeding away.

Kryn, watching through a haze, has pushed herself to the limits of her prodigious power, and realizes it isn't enough. This will take everything she has, everything she is, if they are to emerge victorious.

She wishes they’d had more time.

She can see Marr across the way, shining in the Force as he always has, rushing back across the clearing. There's a flash of regret that this is the last time she'll see him, that now so many things, taken for granted, are lasts. The last morning. The last murmured endearments. The last kiss.

It's a simple thing to reach out, to touch his mind, even as she closes her grip on the artifact, its metalwork burning into her hands.

_We have one chance. Don't waste it. I love you._


	51. Sahlaj Dzun Claim You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The victors return home, but the return is bittersweet.

[1]  
Something is different.

Something is _wrong_.

Invisible cords tighten around him, restricting his power, binding him to this clumsy, unwieldy vessel. Pain flares across his body, all of the wounds he’s been ignoring roaring to life. His left arm falls limp at his side and he struggles to focus through blurred, deteriorating eyes.

What did the wretch do?

He pivots sharply, glaring balefully at the thing, the creature, the _gnat_ near the artifact. She’s been a thorn in his side for far too long, the perfect example of why lesser species should stay enslaved by their betters.

Time to end this.

A blur, and then fire ignites in his chest.

[2]  
As Marr’s vision clears, Vitiate hurls Semiri away, not watching to see where she lands; his attention focuses elsewhere, his murderous intent howling through the Force.

Marr follows Vitiate’s eyeline to Kryn, defenseless and screaming soundlessly in the center of the vortex surrounding her, and runs faster, ignoring his aching back and his protesting muscles, ignoring the cool tingle of kolto as he pushes off from the ground, vaulting over the Vitiate-thing’s head in a flawlessly executed leap. 

Even as focused as he is on getting between Kryn and Vitiate, he notices that something’s changed. Where there had once been a clear demarcation between Vitiate and the body he’d been forced into, when he’d merely been using it as an attack vessel, now the demarcation is gone, blurred beyond recognition, and Kryn’s last words echo in his mind.

 _We have one chance. Don’t waste it._

He lands with a muted thump and jams his saber into Vitiate’s chest. The smell of burned leather and cauterized flesh rises into the air as Vitiate scrabbles helplessly at the lightsaber’s hilt.

“You can’t -!”

Marr meets the former emperor’s stunned gaze. “You will hide from death no longer,” he growls, twisting the saber and dragging it in a vicious diagonal sweep down the length of Vitiate’s torso. “Sahlaj Dzun claim you, coward.”

[3]  
The ground under Satele is chilly and damp, the neglected durasteel covered in old leaves. Power ripples outward from deep within the surrounding forest, the only indication of the battle taking place within a distant dying grove.

A surge of energy, bright and crackling and so, so _alive_ washes over her, and she’s suddenly more invigorated than she’s felt in months … and then there’s nothing. Nothing but stillness and the light caress of the breeze and tentative birdsong. 

One of the greatest threats to the galaxy has disappeared with all the fanfare of smoke rising from a campfire.

Too bad, she thinks, that he isn’t here to feel the sting of this final insult.

The hand clenched around her heart releases, the pit of dread sitting weighty and rotting in her stomach evaporates. Her indrawn breath is like the first breath of fresh air after a sojourn on Quesh. The darkness and all its tendrils are gone, leaving only scarred land behind, land that the Order will try to restore in the coming months.

Satele reaches out through the Force, searching for the four that had left the landing zone hours before.

[4]  
The wide square in front of the Citadel, assaulted by a sizeable force and the scene of some of the fiercest fighting, falls silent as one by one, combatants slow, then stop, warily eyeing each other before looking around with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

The Servant in front of Atroxa deactivates his lightsaber and steps back, confusion settling heavy on his face as he tilts his face up toward the gently falling rain. She wastes no time wondering what he’s doing, stepping forward to jam a dart into his arm before she summarily decapitates him. After prodding him with her boot, she catches Otium’s attention. 

“Do you feel that?”

The Nautolan nods. “What is it?”

“I don’t ….” Atroxa stops, looking out across the city, her comlink buzzing with reports of fighters standing down. “I don’t know.”

[5]  
In an underground laboratory, its air thick with a mélange of scents that leave traces in one’s mouth as well as one’s nose, wizened and skeletal hands still, hovering over a selection of vials. Rheumy, cloudy blue eyes, sunken in their sockets, widen as Rictus stares upward, unseeing. Wrinkled skin pulls taut around his mouth as an expression that loosely fits the definition of _smile_ surfaces on his face.

“He is gone.”

[6]  
The worst part is the jarring stillness, unnatural and ominous after the pandemonium of battle. Dead leaves crackle as Semiri stoops by Scourge’s side, reaching out to check his pulse. His eyes flutter open and he groans.

“Feel like I was in a smashball game, except I was the ball,” he mutters, shoving himself into a sitting position. He stares for a long moment at the fallen form in the center of the clearing, then looks over at Semiri, eyes wide. “It’s done. He’s gone.” 

Marr reattaches his own lightsaber to his belt and scans the clearing for Kryn, breaking into a run when he realizes she's collapsed next to the large stone. She doesn't move when he draws near, and he drops to one knee to fumble with her helm, flinging it aside. The armor is the next to go; her short-sleeved cropped undershirt reveals mottled bruises, seeping sickly greens and deep violets. Skinny, jagged bolts of near black fork across her once-pale flesh, a living testament to the power she channeled and controlled to hold Vitiate in a physical form long enough for Marr to pierce his heart. He pulls off his gauntlets, slips an arm under her shoulders, and gently lifts her up.

She’s breathing. But only just: pained inhalations, oxygen wheezing shallowly from overstressed lungs, and Marr can’t ignore the trepidation that ripples through his chest. 

He’s insisted, ever since he realized she was more to him than a simple diversion, that she couldn’t be more important than the Empire. They agreed that they would both do what was necessary to see their aims brought to fruition; they both knew the risks of this plan. He thought he’d accepted that one or both of them might not survive, but now, cradling her too-still form, he finds that acceptance more ephemeral than fog in sunlight.

He takes no notice of Semiri and Scourge as they make their way over, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Kryn. Who will get their kicks out of irritating me far beyond reasonable expectation if you’re not around? You can’t leave all that work to Vowrawn, he’s really getting on in years.”

Semiri’s eyes widen as she takes in Kryn’s appearance. “Is she alive?”

“Yes, but we cannot tarry.” Marr gingerly shifts Kryn and stands, nodding at the pile of armor he’d discarded. “Bring that, as well.”

[7]  
“Jace.” Satele regards the holographic figure of Jace Malcom with poorly disguised exasperation. “While I appreciate your strategic sense, I am not engaging in political gamesmanship today. It isn’t my place to step outside diplomatic channels.”

He arches one brow. “Aren’t Jedi the Republic’s ultimate diplomats? All I’m saying is, while they’re there you can deal with them away from Saresh. She’s only going to make things worse, and you know it. This is your best chance to neutralize her influence.”

“Jace.” Her tone brooks no argument. “No.” She looks up from the holocom, feeling the four approaching before she hears them. They’re bone-weary and more solemn than she’d expected, and she wonders what happened. “I have to go.”

Marr is the first to step out of the trees into the landing area, an unconscious Nox easily cradled in his arms. His posture and outward demeanor are no different than when they departed, but his concern is plain in the Force, and he makes no effort to disguise it even as he makes his way toward the shuttle. 

She rises from where she’s kneeling and crosses to his side, though she stops at an appropriate, _diplomatic_ distance. “Your journey to Dromund Kaas is long,” she says after a brief moment of inner debate and a cursory examination of Kryn. “While I do not doubt the medical prowess of your doctors, Darth Nox needs seeing to now to ensure she makes it there alive. Allow me to stabilize her before you leave.” A pause. “It’s the least I can do for what you’ve done today.”

To her carefully hidden surprise, Marr doesn’t hesitate. “Thank you. Her condition is beyond my limited healing skills. I will carry her into the medbay, and provide any assistance you require.”

As he strides past her, Satele looks to Semiri, stooped under the weight of a limping and wounded Scourge. “Master Sartoris. I am pleased the two of you return … mostly unscathed.” She studies Semiri for a moment. “Am I correct in assuming you won’t be returning to us?”

“Yes, Grand Master.” Semiri considers. “I’m not joining the Sith, but I don’t feel I belong with the Jedi, either.”

Satele sighs. “I’m disappointed to hear it, but I hope you understand you’ll always have a place here, should you change your mind.” She strides toward the shuttle, pausing two steps up the gangplank. “Lord Scourge, perhaps you should come to the medbay, as well.”

[8]  
The ship holocom is chiming, the sixth time it’s done so, and Marr looks up from the datapad he’s reading, full of messages from Bryasere updating him on the situation in Kaas City. He’d thought Semiri would answer it, but if she’s not going to he will; it’s a serviceable enough reason to haul himself out of the too-small, uncomfortable chair in the medbay, where he’s been since they departed yesterday.

He groans as he stands, stretching before he makes his way to the holocom and touches the button. Six women flicker into existence; their similar serious expressions give way to surprise when they see who answered the holocom. After an increasingly strained silence, Lysch steps forward. “Darth Marr. We were expecting to speak with our sisters.”

“Master Sartoris is sleeping, or she’d have answered the holocom. And Darth Nox is not in any condition to come to the holocom at this time.”

One of the women, the commander of Havoc Squad, steps forward. “What happened to her?” She doesn’t quite manage to scrub all the accusation out of her words.

“Nox put everything she had into keeping Vitiate in a physical form long enough for us to slay him. It took an understandable toll on her.” He falls silent for a moment, trying to think of what he wants to say. In the end, he opts for the simplest. “She did what her duty required of her.”

“Duty!” Ca’ii snaps, her normally genial features twisted with anger. “It wasn’t her _duty_ to -”

All six of the sisters begin talking, shouting over each other to be heard; Marr looks over when someone next to him clears their throat, then steps aside so Semiri can take his place. “I will leave this conversation to you.”

“Probably wisest; you don’t appear to be having the best of luck.” She ignores how her sisters have quieted, watching their interaction. “Will you be in the medbay?” When he nods, she tilts her head in that direction. “Go on. Let me know if anything changes. I’ll bring dinner to you.”

Marr leaves, though the medbay door doesn’t close, and Semiri looks at her sisters. “Let’s keep it simple. Vitiate is gone, as I’m sure Lysch and Zal’shana noticed. This only happened because of Kryn, but it drained her. We don’t yet know to what degree; she’s been stabilized and will be taken to a medcenter as soon as we’re back in Imperial space.”

Raitlia looks away from the holocom. “Aric, I have to make a trip. You're in command of Havoc. I should be -”

“Wait!” Semiri holds up her hands. “You can’t all come running to Kaas City; don’t you think that’ll draw a little too much attention to yourselves?”

Ca’ii snorts. “I’m a smuggler. I can -” Something beeps and she pulls her datapad out of her pocket. “Or … I - err, Jeyn Salrit, that is - can be granted authorization in Imperial space by the Dark Council.” She arches one eyebrow. “That’s handy. Hey, ask if this is permanent!” Another beep; she looks at the message and her face falls. “Aww, damn. Anyway, Zal and Raitlia, you’ll need to be my crew. We’re Dromund Kaas-bound in two days.”

Marr, to Semiri’s surprise, rejoins her. “I would wait until we have a clearer picture of what’s going on in the capital. Vitiate’s followers made an attempt to take the Citadel and various other sectors of the city. It does no one any good to drop into the middle of a war zone. Not to mention, if she spends any prolonged amount of time in a medcenter, you’ll be unlikely to be able to see her. Better to wait until she’s released.”

“Normally I would disagree, as a war zone would provide an acceptable amount of distraction,” Raitlia says, “but in this case I … believe Darth Marr is correct. I will acquiesce to this suggestion _if_ you agree to notify us as soon as we can leave. We will not sit here halfway across the galaxy, twiddling our thumbs while our sister is in this condition.”

He nods once. “I will do this.” The briefest pause, and if anyone hears the faintest amusement in Darth Marr’s voice, they don’t mention it aloud. “If I don’t, I’m likely to pay for it when she awakens.”

[9]  
After a brief stop on Yavin Four to exchange Semiri’s ship for Marr’s shuttle, they arrive back on Dromund Kaas. Vowrawn, sorrow in his eyes, meets them in Marr’s hangar.

“There’s a medical transport waiting outside the doors for your permission to enter, my friend,” Vowrawn says, “and the Council has convened, awaiting your arrival. However, if you need to make your report via holocall, I’m sure a convincing reason can be devised.”

“Perhaps,” Scourge says after a moment of thought, “it would be wisest for Semiri and I to take Darth Nox to the medcenter. It will be a small matter to present ourselves as just the proper Sith to be bringing in a wounded Councilor. You can make your report and meet us there afterward; thus, less attention is drawn to things that are not open knowledge.”

Marr considers. “Agreed. I shall rejoin you as soon as possible. Vowrawn, let us make haste.”

[10]  
Marr delivers his debrief to the rest of the Council and his after-action report to Bryasere, then departs for the medcenter. Darth Callidus arrives a short time later, strolling into Kryn’s room as he reads through her chart.

“Her vitals are normal,” he says, looking at the monitor on the wall next to Kryn’s bed. “She’s actually in abnormally excellent health given … well, given her history with Lord Crisan.”

“Given what she was subjected to as a slave,” Semiri says flatly, her mouth thinning to a scant line. “Don’t sugarcoat it.”

Surprise flashes across Callidus’ face before he nods. “Yes. Even her scars are gone. When she awakens, I shall have to inquire about this turn of events. As it stands, however … I don’t know what else can be done for her here. Considering what you shared in our recent meeting, Marr, the best I can theorize is that she simply needs time to recover what she’s lost.”

“And if that theory is wrong?” Marr asks, remarkably neutral. “What is the worst case scenario?”

Callidus closes Kryn’s record, puts the datapad back into his pocket. “Worst case, she never wakes up.”

Semiri makes a small noise, then claps a hand over her mouth.

“However,” Callidus continues, “I’ve known Darth Nox for some time, and I think she’s far too stubborn for something like that. Give her time. We’ll discharge her today, back to her house. Perhaps being around familiar things will help her. I’ll send a medical droid to monitor her, and if anything changes Darth Siscien and I will come ourselves. Nothing is too much for one of our own.”

[11]  
The apartment is full of light and sound when Semiri, Scourge, and Marr arrive at Kryn’s house; Liinz, Lysch, and Rafana are already there, along with Talos, Andronikos, Xalek, Blizz, and Mako, and droids stream in and out of the apartment, repairing the damage from Vitiate’s followers’ assault. Darth Callidus sends, along with the medical droid, a contingent of Biotic Science researchers with prototype healing tech, his own personal designs, which Talos puts to immediate use.

Ca’ii, Raitlia, and Zal’shana arrive two days later, and everyone sets to putting Kryn’s house to rights once the droids are done with the basic repairs. They fix bookshelves, replace damaged statuary, clean and straighten and beautify. There are arguments, sharper than usual, over how much to change and what to move, and no one admits this is all a distraction from what’s really worrying them.

They each take turns sitting at Kryn’s bedside, talking or reading or simply holding her hand. Andronikos chastises her for _doing this to me again, Sith, and damn your insistence that I have a head of gray hair_. Talos and Xalek give her updates on the various side projects on Yavin Four. Zal’shana tells her stories as Ca’ii braids her hair. Raitlia and Lysch both give her a stern talking-to hoping Kryn will awaken enough to give them her usual sass in return. Rafana sings to her. Even Blizz and Mako come in, ratting out Liinz for pilfering all the sweets in the house.

Despite all this, there is no change in Kryn’s condition. 

Marr withdraws from the public eye entirely, communicating with his sphere only by holocom. As far as most people at the Citadel know, he’s recuperating from the confrontation with Vitiate; only a select few are privy to the truth. Bryasere calls daily with updates and conundrums and even office gossip, unasked questions in her eyes. She disconnects with them still unanswered. 

Each evening, when the stillness of night has subdued the harried daylight, after everyone has come in and said their goodnights, he shuts the door and locks it, setting his armor aside. The rain patters against the transparisteel; the only other sound is Kryn’s even breathing as he settles into a high-backed office chair and laces his fingers with hers, reading until he nods off. 

No one can persuade him to sleep out in the crowded main room, where the other eleven spend the evening telling stories and making the most of their impromptu reunion despite the unpleasant circumstances, or even on the plush couch in Kryn’s room; he spends each night slumped and uncomfortable but within easy reach of Kryn, steadfastly ignoring the creeping fear that she may not wake up at all.


	52. Tranquility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hard decision is reached. Vowrawn has a plan. Kryn receives a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Athros, Iorra, and Akrona belong to the lovely [fluffynexu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffynexu))

[1]  
It’s been two weeks since Vitiate was slain on Tython, his control over the Empire ending forever. Rumors abound among the Force-sensitive, encouraged by the fact that the Council hasn’t made an official announcement regarding the change they all can sense. When they should be celebrating, capitalizing on this momentum, the Council remains in a holding period, waiting for Darth Nox to recover.

Vowrawn checks that he's got everything in order for the upcoming meeting, then punches in a familiar frequency. “Anything?” he asks without preamble, though there is an undercurrent of gentleness below the businesslike exterior. 

“No.” Marr’s response is terse. “If nothing has changed in one more week, I'll come back and we'll make the announcement without her. Any longer and rumors will fly about the Council as well as what happened to Vitiate, and we can hardly afford to look weak as we're poised to assume complete control of the Empire.”

Vowrawn nods. “Agreed. Are you attending today's meeting, or shall I send you my notes?”

“Notes. I've got a backlog I'm working through today.” Indeed, Marr hasn't looked up from his work this entire conversation. “Was there anything else, Vowrawn?”

Vowrawn holds up his hands. “No, my friend. I plan on stopping by tonight, if that's amenable. Perhaps she just needs to hear my dulcet tones convincing her to rejoin the land of the living.” He grins, sure he could have heard Marr’s exasperated sigh even without the benefit of a holocom. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I'll inform the others you’re coming by.” Marr flicks one gauntleted hand at Vowrawn. “Don't let me detain you.”

[2]  
Vowrawn, at the head of the large table in the topmost conference room in the Citadel, waits until everyone is seated and Rictus’ hologram appears, then clears his throat.

“As you are all aware, Nox is still not herself, and whispers continue to spread. If she has not recovered in one week, we will proceed with our announcement, merely keeping her out of the spotlight until she is healed.” Sorrow flickers across his face, and he studies his hands. “Healed or replaced. If she is replaced, she will of course be remembered as a hero of the Empire, and given all appropriate accolades and honors.” 

He stands, then paces in front of the window. “There remains, however, the question of the power vacuum left after the passing of our ‘dear leader.’” Vowrawn’s derisive tone makes his opinion of said deceased leader crystal clear. 

Rictus regards Vowrawn with no small measure of surprise. “Given your vehement opposition to Vitiate, I'd have thought you'd be happy to see him gone.”

Vowrawn shakes his head. “You misunderstand. I am incredibly pleased _Vitiate_ is gone. But with our move toward diplomacy, this means that the head of state - now us, collectively - will be dealing with Leontyne Saresh. Does anyone here want to do that? Even you, Otium?” 

The conference room is still as an undisturbed tomb, every Councilor at the table suddenly finding something besides Vowrawn to hold their attention. 

Vowrawn grins widely. “Thought so. Even if it wasn’t Saresh, diplomacy works best with a head of state available to run interference and manage the other heads of state. Thus, I propose we install a new Emperor, not for subjugation, but for stability and guidance. We are an empire, after all. It’s what the people are used to.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “I'd even make it tied to one family, given the importance of bloodlines in our society. We're here to keep them in check, they're there to provide the constancy people prefer and do all those boring functionary things we'd rather not do.”

“And who would you suggest, Vowrawn?” Atroxa’s words are blunt, untempered by pleasantries. “Yourself?”

Vowrawn chuckles, holding up his hands. “Oh, no. I have far too much to do within my own sphere, and I certainly haven't earned that honor. But one among us has. One among us has solidified his claim in the most traditional manner available to the Sith.”

Silence reigns, and then Mortis leans forward, looking past his fellow Councilors to where Vowrawn is looking far too pleased with himself. “You want Marr to become _Emperor_? And you think he’ll agree to this?”

Otium, across the table, nods. “He's had diplomatic relations - well, to a point - with the Republic already. The Hutts respect him. The Empire respects him. He's been at the forefront of each of these major societal changes, and has his status as a war hero to stand on, as well. It's a good suggestion, one I like more the more I think about it.”

“Are they any that would be opposed to it?” Vowrawn asks, scanning his fellow Councilors. “Even without Nox’s vote, I'm sure we can carry this.” His belief is vindicated when no one indicates opposition to the proposal. “Good. We shall proceed apace, then.”

Mortis clears his throat, looking at a datapad. “It doesn’t escape my notice that you’re bringing this up when he isn’t in attendance. I can start drafting the laws - obviously, we have none governing succession of the Emperor - but if we're going to codify that it's dynastic into law, someone is going to have to tell Darth Marr he has to get married. Or at least sire offspring.” Mortis gives Vowrawn an arch look. “I’m not doing it.”

 _This_ generates a whole host of opposition, and eventually Vowrawn gestures for silence. “If it comes to that, _I'll_ tell him. Some lords of the Sith you are, shaking in your boots over the prospect of a few harsh words from Darth Marr.” He consults his datapad. “That’s all I had. Does anyone else have any business?” He looks around. “No? Good. Meeting adjourned.”

[3]  
By the second week back from Tython, Kryn’s crowded house has settled into something resembling a routine, with everyone determined to make the most of this impromptu family reunion. Marr and Raitlia, the two most tied to regularity and high profile work, nod curtly at each other as they retreat to rooms on opposite sides of the house to conduct business, while the others keep themselves busy with a wide variety of activities. They draw up a rotation for whose turn it is to cook meals, though more often than not the same people end up in the kitchen anyway, usually amid proclamations of _honestly Raitlia you know I only eat rations_ and _what do you mean cake isn’t dinner_ and other such things the more serious among them brush off as nonsense.

This evening finds Ca’ii, Liinz, and Marr working around each other, though if someone had asked Marr he wouldn’t hesitate to point out that _he’s_ doing most of the actual work while _they’re_ doing most of the tasting. Also that neither of them seem to know where anything is, despite having been on kitchen duty more than once. He’s also sure, however, that pointing any of that out is a lost cause.

“So, Darth Marr, I have a question,” Ca’ii says brightly, looking into the large pot on the stove and blithely ignoring her sister’s sudden _don’t do it_ signals. This sort of opportunity isn’t going to present itself again anytime soon, and Ca’ii refuses to let it pass her by. “It has to be hard to cook in that armor.”

“It isn’t.” He finishes slicing the vegetables currently on the cutting board, sweeps them into the pot, then turns to the rest. “I presume a question is coming at some point?”

“Well … it can’t be comfortable.”

“I’m curious, do they teach you what questions are in the Republic?” Truth be told, he’s not sure why he’s indulging this entire nonsensical conversation. “Four decades has a way of making one quite accustomed to any discomfort, to the point where it is no longer a discomfort.”

Not dissuaded in the least, Ca’ii’s expression only gets more stubborn. “You can’t eat in it.”

“Of course I can.” He stirs the stew, beckons at the pot. “That still wasn’t a question. Taste this.”

She does. “More salt. And see? You have to have me taste test.”

“I could argue on a technicality, but I have neither the time nor the inclination. And that question was of dubious quality, since you could remove it from the conversation and nothing would be lost. Thus, we’re still at ‘no questions asked’. At best I’ll give you a half-question.” He tosses another generous pinch of salt into the pot, stirs the contents. “Again.”

Ca’ii opens her mouth to snark about being given orders, thinks better of it, tries the stew. “Good.” She sets her spoon aside and shrugs. “Fine. Why don’t you just … not wear it? It’s not like any of us are going to care.” Ca’ii raises her voice just enough to be heard in the main room. “Even Raitlia knows how to keep a secret when it’s for one of us.”

Raitlia appears around the corner and opens the fridge, rummages through it and extracts a beer. “She isn’t incorrect, if it matters.”

“No.” The only thing that surprises him about this line of questioning, really, is how long it’s taken to come up. He was sure Ca’ii would have mentioned it within the first week, though given Liinz’s reaction a few minutes ago, perhaps she’s been admonished by the others to leave it alone. 

Raitlia finds herself opening her mouth and asking a question before she thinks to _not_ ask. “How well does that ‘no’ thing work on Kryn?”

“About as well as it ever did for you, I’d presume,” he says drily, ignoring Ca’ii and Liinz’s poorly muffled laughter as he turns back to them. “Can the two of you manage to add the noodles, at least? Preferably without either burning down the kitchen or overcooking everything? I have calls to return before dinner.”

Liinz affects a hurt look. “We’re not _Kryn_. We can handle dumping in some noodles. Go make your calls.” She looks over at Ca’ii, taking care to raise her voice enough to be heard by everyone in the vicinity. “You’d think he and Raitlia would get along better, they’re so much alike.”

Both Raitlia and Marr ignore this, though Marr pauses in the doorway. “Major, Darth Nox will be receiving official visitors later this evening. It would be best for everyone involved, including Nox, if you four were not seen. While Ca’ii and Zal’shana might not be well known in the Empire, you certainly are, as is Semiri.”

Raitlia nods brusquely. “Agreed. Inform me when we need to be elsewhere.”

[4]  
Scourge laughs as Semiri scowls, tosses her cards onto the table with more force than is entirely necessary. “You win, Rafana. Again.” She stuffs her hand into her pocket and yanks out a credit chip, flicking it at her sister. “Here.”

The Rattataki woman catches it, a hint of a smile on her face. “Don’t be a sore loser, Semiri. You’re the one that asked for the rematch.”

“I thought I had you this time. I -”

Marr strides out of Kryn’s suite, pointing toward the large windows. A figure, dimly visible, is exiting a covered speeder in the pouring rain. “Darth Vowrawn is here.”

The living room turns into a flurry of activity. Lysch levitates the strategy game she and Raitlia are playing, guiding it out of the room and down toward the lower level lounge, followed by Raitlia carrying both of their drinks. Ca’ii sweeps the pazaak cards into one hand, disappearing down the stairs with that and her own drink, Rafana and Liinz and Semiri right on her heels. Zal’shana is the last out, gliding behind the rest of them, attention still on her book. She reaches to the side and taps the panel; the door soundlessly slides shut, cutting off the ambient noise from the lower level.

Marr crosses the room and opens the inner door just as Vowrawn steps in from outside, sweeping his dripping cloak off his shoulders. “Awful weather tonight,” Vowrawn says somewhat unnecessarily, searching the crowded coat rack for a hook. He hangs up the sodden garment, then follows Marr into the main room. “I should have come before now. No change?”

“No.” 

“Damn. I was hoping.” Vowrawn’s steps slow as they cross into Kryn’s suite, looking at the extensive library lining the walls of the anteroom. “Callidus has been tearing his hair out, figuratively speaking, over this. His sphere is producing some _very_ interesting tech in the course of their research.”

“Has he talked about them in meetings?” Marr thinks back through the meeting minutes he’s received. “I haven’t seen them in the notes.”

“No, Akrona keeps me updated on most of it when we get together for lunch. She says hello, by the way.” Vowrawn turns from the library, focusing instead on Marr. “My friend. How are you?”

Marr regards the other man with ill-disguised exasperation. “Vowrawn, if you’re expecting some outpouring of emotion, you ought to know better by now.”

Instead of the usual _you caught me_ smile Marr is expecting, Vowrawn sighs, his face falling into melancholy. “I’ve been thinking about Athros lately, since you and Kryn returned from Tython. Seems he’s on my mind every time I turn around.” 

“Oh?” This is also unexpected. Athros, Akrona’s father, was a Councilor, but more than that, he had been Vowrawn’s best friend, confidante, and lover, killed thirteen years ago in a Republic ambush. Vowrawn rarely talks about him these days, but he’s stayed in touch with Athros’ widow, Iorra, and his daughter Akrona - Vowrawn’s niece, for all intents and purposes - ever since Athros died. 

Vowrawn nods. “It was bad enough that he simply never came back from that mission, but we expect that. It’s a necessary hazard of war. But what happened to Kryn…. “ He falls silent, makes a gesture that’s surprisingly helpless. “I don’t know how well I’d handle sitting by, knowing he’s there but still not _there_. It can’t be easy, even for someone as stoic as you.”

“You are… correct,” Marr says slowly, after a long silence, and a hard edge creeps into his words. “Worse still that I can’t do anything about it. I’ve looked into more unorthodox methods, though I’m hesitant to pursue them. If the announcement must be made, however, I intend to do so.”

Vowrawn arches one brow ridge. “Should I ask?”

“No. You shouldn’t.”

Vowrawn turns up his palms. “Very well. If you need assistance, my friend, you know you have it. For anything.” He tilts his head toward Kryn’s room, pulling his datapad out of a pocket as he does so. “I feel I should at least say hello while you look over the meeting notes.” He taps the screen, then waits until he hears Marr’s own datapad beep. 

Marr settles into one of the plush chairs next to a bookshelf. “Of course.”

Vowrawn slips through the door, easing into the high backed chair next to the bed. “All right, my dear, you’ve had your rest, but you’re driving our favorite grumpy Sith to distraction. He’s even contemplating actual mischief - that he won’t share with me, can you believe it? - to wake you up.” His expression softens as he takes her hand. “I know you’re not going to let Vitiate win. And I know you don’t want to miss the party we’re going to have celebrating his defeat. Not to mention, I don’t know if we can handle the kind of boring meetings we used to have before you came along. Come back to us, all right?”

He sits with her in silence for a few minutes longer, then makes his way out of Kryn’s room, closing the door behind him. “I should get going.”

“Vowrawn.” Marr looks up from the datapad. “These are _all_ the notes from today’s meeting? It would have been less than five minutes long.”

Vowrawn shrugs, nonchalant. “Sometimes they’re short, sometimes they’re lengthy.”

“Hmm. But why wouldn’t you just have a holocall for this? All you did was mention the upcoming announcement.” Marr shakes the datapad at Vowrawn. “You’re _sure_ these are all the meeting notes.”

The Pureblood nods. “I’m sure.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Vowrawn folds his arms and chuckles. He hadn’t been expecting quite this much of an interrogation but he’ll be damned if he’s going to divulge his plans. “Why on Hoth would I lie to you about meeting notes, Marr?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Marr snaps, irritated. “I gave up trying to figure you out long ago.”

“Then accept I’m telling the truth, my friend. That’s your only recourse.” Vowrawn stands. “I know you have houseguests, and I appreciate everyone’s commitment to plausible deniability for their various reasons.” He’s gleaned tangential information about some of Kryn’s siblings, mostly from mentions by Kryn herself, but no concrete information, and he has no wish to pry into his friend’s life to such an extent. “I’ll be on my way. If anything changes, you’ll let me know?”

“Of course.” Marr follows Vowrawn back across the living room, waiting until he has his cloak on to speak again. “Thank you for coming, Vowrawn. I appreciate it.”

“What are friends for?” Vowrawn looks back toward Kryn’s room. “Athros would have liked her, you know.”

Marr shakes his head. “The idea of the three of you collaborating makes my blood run cold.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you have a remarkable tendency to have friends who -”

“Test every fiber of my being with their incessant nonsense?” 

This time, a wide smile graces Vowrawn’s face. “You say that, but we’ve been friends for decades and you are hopelessly taken with the most mouthy Imperial I’ve ever met, so one can only conclude that you _like_ such things.” When all he gets in response from Marr is a grumpy noncommittal sound, he laughs outright. “Thought so. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I’ll see you soon.”

[5]  
The torrential rain lets up later that night, and Marr finds himself out on the wide balcony, looking out across the glittering lights of the Capital District, his mind on a conversation from almost a year ago. Kryn had stood almost where he is now, windswept and sodden and wrapped in his cape, the light gentle on her profile.

_“I love how the city looks at night.”_

_“Tell me.”_

He’d almost told her he loved her then, would have if he hadn’t been interrupted by a damn fool moff unable to comprehend orders. He’s lost track of how many times he’s told her he loves her since that first time he finally shouted it at her in utter frustration, how many times she’s said it to him.

It still isn’t enough.

He refuses to accept that that last rushed declaration on Tython was the last. He won’t, not with all the resources at his disposal. He’ll call in favors he’s held onto for years, if necessary. Nothing that puts the Empire in jeopardy, of course, but favors and power are meaningless if not skillfully wielded.

The door behind him opens, then closes. Marr doesn’t turn, identifying the person by the measured tread crossing the balcony. “Major Sartoris.”

“Darth Marr.” Raitlia stops next to him, folding her arms across her chest, not at all surprised he doesn’t have to look to see who’s joined him. “You know I’m never going to like you.”

His tone is more dry than Tatooine at midday. “And here I was concerned you’d be wounded if I admitted I’m never going to like _you_.”

“I assumed as much.” The corner of her mouth twitches. “However, I know that my sister adores you, and for all that I question her judgment sometimes, it’s clear you feel the same way.” The slightest pause. “Even though you’re doing an admirable job trying to hide it. I didn’t think Sith fell in love.”

“A common misconception in the Republic. It’s easier to fight if you think your enemy is nothing but hate personified.” He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “Kryn is Sith; surely you weren’t unaware of her romantic tendencies.”

Kryn’s dating exploits have been common knowledge in the family for some time, and Raitlia nods. “We don’t … really consider her Sith, I suppose. She’s just Kryn.”

“But she _is_ Sith.” Raitlia’s assertion greatly irritates him, and he makes a concerted effort to keep that annoyance out of his voice. “She’s one of the most talented among us. You can’t just ignore the parts of her you don’t like because they don’t fit your preconceived notions.”

“I -” She takes a deep breath. “Perhaps you’re right. But I didn’t come out here for a philosophical argument; it will get us nowhere. I just wanted to say that while I am more than happy to speak to you only when required, I will keep things civil, for Kryn.”

“As will I.”

Raitlia nods once, crisply. “I’m glad we could have this talk. I’ll leave you to your ruminations.” She pivots smartly and disappears back inside.

When he returns inside a few minutes later, he finds Ca’ii, Liinz, Andronikos, Scourge, and Semiri playing some sort of drinking game while Zal’shana watches with amusement. Scourge looks over as the door closes and beckons to Marr.

“Between you and I, we can win this game, Darth Marr.” Scourge points at an empty seat. “It’s possible they’ll get creative and we’ll lose, but either way it’s bound to be entertaining. And eye-opening.”

Marr holds up a hand. “No, thank you. Playing ‘never have I ever’ with a Jedi is a recipe for a trip to the medcenter. I have some work to catch up on; I’ll see you tomorrow.” A pause, and then he can’t quite help himself. “Some of you later than others, I’d assume. I’ll brew a stronger pot of caf than usual.”

The chorus of farewells fades behind him as he closes, then locks, Kryn’s door. The armor comes off piece by piece, cleaned and set aside on an armor stand he’d brought from his house, followed by the close-fitting armorweave tunic and trousers. He pulls on a pair of pajama pants worn soft from age and repeated washings, and drops into his usual seat next to her bed.

Normally, he’d tell her about his day, read her a story, just talk to her. He’s dug out some of his lectures from his time as a student instructor at Korriban’s academy, perhaps hoping she’ll wake up to tell him what an utter bore he is, mentioned everyone that’s come by to visit - from Pierce, Vette, and Jaesa to Barash Clechad, tagging along on one of Bryasere’s trips and bearing four bags of absolutely delicious caf - and kept her abreast of the waxing and waning temporary alliances between her sisters. He doesn’t know for certain if she hears any of it, or if she does, if she’ll remember it, but better to tell her than risk her wrath if she finds out he didn't.

Tonight, though, the words simply won’t come; speaking to a silent, still Kryn is too much to bear in light of the suddenly looming deadline for her to come back to herself, and all he can do is murmur a goodnight, reaching through the Force for her presence as he falls asleep.


	53. The Sun Dissolving the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stories, games, and an unexpected appearance.

[1]  
It’s been years since Marr has required an alarm to wake him; even if he did, the perpetual twinge in his back from sleeping in this high-backed chair would suffice. The sky is still dark as he drifts toward consciousness, ambient light from a single lamp on Kryn’s desk providing the only illumination.

Sometime in the night, Kryn has twined her fingers with his, and he’ll have to be quite careful if he’s to successfully extricate himself without waking her, granting her at least another hour of sleep before she _has_ to roll out of bed, scowling. But her hand is warm in his, and maybe this morning he’ll be just a little irresponsible. He doesn’t have anything pressing, anyway. Just a holocall with Bryasere, progress reports on some of the joint R &D projects, a few after-actions from insignificant border skirmishes.

He’s dozing again when the situation percolates through his sleep-addled mind and his eyes snap open.

Kryn is holding his hand.

She hasn’t moved on her own in nearly three weeks, and yet here they are.

Excitement rushes through him, ruthlessly suppressed by his ever-present pragmatism. It’s something, yes, but it’s small. It isn’t as though she sat up and demanded to know where her caf is. He opens his mouth, then closes it, suddenly irrationally suspicious of disturbing anything, even the silence.

Finally, he can wait no longer.

“Kryn?” The single syllable is hoarse, full of tentative hope.

He’s sure he’s prepared for anything, but the suffocating disappointment when she doesn’t answer still takes him by surprise. He eases his hand out from under hers, bit by bit, just as he would if this were an ordinary morning.

Her brow creases and her fingers tighten on his just for a moment before they release him.

Marr snatches his datapad off of her desk. _Movement. Still unconscious, but at least tangentially aware of another presence, though I can’t say with certainty if she knows it’s me._ He’s dressed all the way to his boots and greaves by the time Vowrawn answers.

_That’s excellent news, my friend. Rescheduling anything today?_

_No. Sitting here staring at her will only make it worse. We won’t reset the timetable. Three days left. Proceeding as if this were any other day._

True to his word, he bends to press a kiss to Kryn’s forehead, as he’s done every morning, before straightening and putting on his mask. “Come on, _qilitzarai_. You’re close. Just a little bit farther. Everyone is waiting for you.” He pauses in the doorway, turning to glance at her one more time before he strides out.

[2]  
“No, the best time was when that Republic soldier tried to shoplift,” Ca’ii says, dropping onto the couch, beer in hand. “Remember that one? She broke his arm.” An offhand comment during dinner an hour ago has led to everyone sitting around telling stories about Kryn, each one ridiculous and yet completely unsurprising to Marr, who’s all but forgotten in a corner of the room. “Just launched herself at him like a dervish. What ended up happening with that, anyway? I assume he ran back and told his command.”

Raitlia shakes her head. “Command would have told him it’s his own fault for venturing into off-limits regions of Nar Shaddaa, even if he tried to come up with some bantha shit story about being assaulted. We get briefs every time we go there that it’s not Republic territory.” The corner of her mouth quirks into a smile, and the ghost of childhood grudges haunts her next sentence. “So of course, Kryn got away with it, like she always managed to get away with everything.”

Zal’shana nods. “She might not have gotten in trouble with Republic command, but Mother was so disappointed; moreso when Father agreed with Kryn’s actions. I think she despaired of ever convincing Kryn to be the polite example she thought we all needed.”

“That’s what we had Raitlia for,” Semiri says, nudging her oldest sister. “Right? You were the only one who managed to keep a handle on Kryn.”

Raitlia chuckles. “Not that she was really _that_ much trouble, overall. She was just never serious about anything and it drove me crazy.” She falls silent, pain clouding her green eyes; she studies her hands, the unhappiness forcing her shoulders down. “You know, the day she was taken, we’d had this huge fight … and then she never came home.” Her indrawn breath is slow, almost hesitant. “Sai’rah didn’t blame me, not that she had to; I blamed myself enough while I made sure I was there to help her get through that, and through Lysch leaving, and Semiri, and Zal.” She sighs. “And I didn’t hear from Kryn again for years. Not until she was out of the Academy and had her own ship and resources, and we were on opposite sides of this conflict, this huge gulf. And by then, Sai’rah and Fardon were gone, so I couldn’t even tell her that Kryn had ended up all right, after all.”

“Raitlia.” Zal’shana is out of her seat and dropping into the empty space next to her oldest sister before Raitlia can protest. “Mother and Father would understand. Kryn understands. It wasn’t anybody’s fault but those lowlife … those lowlife -” The soft-spoken, kind-natured Twi’lek casts about for an appropriately cutting insult to describe the slavers that had kidnapped Kryn when she was fourteen.

“Piles of rotting rancor droppings,” Ca’ii supplies helpfully. “Please let us do the trash talking, Zal. You’re too nice for it.”

Zal hugs her sister, pressing a kiss to her scarred cheek. “What Ca’ii said. It’s their fault. Not any of ours. And you’re here now, and -”

“And haven’t shot Kryn on sight,” Rafana adds drily. “That has to count for something, Republic cheerleader.” She waits until Raitlia nods, takes a deep breath, presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Come on, let’s go bake some cookies. Even you two useless ones,” and here Rafana beckons at Ca’ii and Liinz, “can come help.”

Marr, still unnoticed, dashes off a quick message as they all traipse toward the kitchen.

[3]  
The following evening finds the main room full of light and noise and laughter. They’ve managed to make enough room and find enough seats for nineteen people … well, eighteen, really. Khem Val lounges against one wall, arms folded across his chest, observing the proceedings. The other eighteen - the seven Sartoris sisters, Marr, Andronikos, Talos, Xalek, Ashara, Scourge, Pierce, Vette, Jaesa, Mako, and Blizz - have split into three teams of six for charades, seemingly at random, and they’re all currently shouting at Semiri, who glares and settles her hands onto her hips when a buzzer sounds.

“It was acklay,” she snaps, exasperated, as everyone groans. “I didn’t know this many people could be this bad at this game!”

Blizz chatters, Xalek nods, and Scourge makes no effort to cover his amusement. “That’s a fair point. Jedi, have you ever seen an acklay? I’m skeptical, given that performance.” 

Raucous laughter follows this, growing louder as Semiri scowls in Scourge’s direction. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion of my acting skills, Sith.” She flounces over to the couch he’s seated on, dropping dramatically into the open spot next to him. “Fine. Whose turn is it?”

Lysch looks around, and if anyone sees the glint of mischief in her eyes, they don’t mention it, though both Pierce and Vette abruptly hide smiles. “Darth Marr has yet to go.”

Talos and Andronikos exchange a look, but neither manage to speak before Ca’ii does, her face alight with good humor. “The sister grump sells out the Council grump! A twist!”

“Wrath.” The room falls silent at the single word from Marr, deliberately, though not sincerely, icy. “I thought we had an understanding.”

“Understandings are tenuous things with the Sartoris clan,” Lysch says, not at all fazed by his chilly performance. “Better you learn that now.”

He stands, privately amused. “Duly noted. I -” He trails off, looking past the group, when the door to Kryn’s suite slides open. Something in his demeanor tips the others off, and everyone turns to look at what he’s staring at, unmoving.

Kryn is pale and drawn, her robe rumpled, her hair a red disaster, eyecovering tied carelessly around her head. She scrubs at her face and takes a tentative step forward. “Can someone tell me where I am?” The words are cracking and uncertain, her brow wrinkled. “And who all of you are? I feel like I know you but I ….” She flattens her lips into a scant line, frustrated. “I don’t know. Everything feels ... I don’t _know_.”

Her sisters are out of their seats like lightning, nearly shoving each other out of the way to get to her, all talking at once. Kryn takes a step backward, looking from woman to woman with increasing confusion. Finally, Zal’shana holds up her hands. 

“Hold on, everyone. Kryn.” The Twi’lek extends a hand to her. “Pardon our excitement, big sister. What _do_ you remember? Here, come over here and sit down.” She wraps her arm around Kryn’s, leading her toward the center of the room, but Kryn stops when she sees Marr, still rooted to the spot where he's been since seeing Kryn standing in her doorway.

“I … I know you.” She shrugs off Zal’shana’s hold and weaves through the crowded room, stopping in front of him. “Every fiber of my being knows you. You’re … you’re ….” She shakes her head hard, as if trying to dislodge the information she wants, then grimaces. Without asking, she reaches out, pulling his gauntlet off, heedless or uncaring of the sounds of shock behind her. She sets it on a nearby table before clasping his now-bare hand in both of hers, then bows her head, inhales slowly, her hands tightening on his. Another slow, deep breath.

Marr steels himself, shoulders tense, waiting for her to say she was wrong, that she remembers nothing, even as he reaches through the Force. _You know me, yes?_

Kryn feels like she’s standing in thick fog, unchanging no matter which way she turns. _I can’t … I don’t see …._

Zal’shana steps to his side and holds out her hand, then pauses, giving Marr a questioning look. He nods once, and she lays a slim hand on his bared arm, and one on Kryn’s shoulder. Semiri mimics her stance on Marr’s other side, and Lysch completes the circle, her red hands resting lightly on her sisters’. She looks over her shoulder, glaring at the other four until they come over.

“We’re not even all special and Force sensitive like you guys,” Ca’ii whispers loudly. “What are we supposed to do?”

Semiri shakes her head. “Just _stand here_. Whether or not you can use the Force, the Force is within you, and -”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Liinz says, holding up her hands before standing between Lysch and Zal’shana, throwing her arms over their shoulders. “Blah blah Jedi speech, we get it. Just tell us all to hug. Why are you Force users always so long-winded?”

All of this banter is so much background noise to Marr, focused as he is on Kryn. _Search your feelings_. He amplifies their bond, adds his power to hers. _Find me in them. Follow that back to yourself._

For the first time, she sees a light far in the distance, flickering through the fog, and then it’s as though she’s walking down a familiar street after a long time away, and the closer she gets to her destination, the more she remembers everything that makes it home. Her pulse is racing and her hands begin to shake, and then her head jerks up. _Matthius!_

_Welcome back, Kryn._

She gasps aloud. “Vitiate!”

“Gone,” he says with a steadiness that belies how his heart is thudding in his chest. “Dead.” All of a sudden there are too many people in Kryn’s house and here he is in armor, bound to this persona when all he wants to do is fling this Force-forsaken mask aside and kiss her. He settles for brushing a strand of hair behind one of her ears, his fingertips lingering for a moment after. “Kryn, what do you remember?”

“Everything before telling you I loved you, and nothing since. Though … why do I remember an Academy lesson about improvised weaponry? Why are we all hugging me?” She swivels, though she doesn’t let go of Marr, and looks around. “And why are you all having a party without me? Pierce, that hurts, I thought we were friends. And .…” Another face catches her attention. “ _Raitlia_? Are you … you’re at my house. In Kaas City.”

For a split second, it’s as though the moment is frozen in time, and then there is shouting and hollering, and Marr takes a step backward as Kryn is pulled into an embrace with her sisters, all of whom are talking and wiping away tears and lecturing Kryn about never being that foolhardy again. Pierce and Andronikos leave in search of a drink properly bubbly and celebratory, followed by Vette, Ashara, and Jaesa. Mako disappears and returns with a plate of reheated dinner, and Kryn is in short order eased into a chair and commanded to eat while Talos conducts a cursory medical examination.

She catches Marr’s gaze, fork halfway to her mouth, as he’s pulling his gauntlet back on. _I’ve missed you._

 _And I you, qilitzarai_. A remarkable understatement on his part.

A smile plays at the corner of her mouth. _I know I should mute the bond but I don’t want to. You look so stoic but you feel … practically beside yourself. It’s unlike you. I promise I’ll kiss you properly when we’re alone. Actually …._

She abruptly stands, setting the plate on the table in front of her. “Darth Marr, I require an update on my sphere,” she commands, imperious. “Now.” The briefest pause, and her mouth twitches. “In my quarters, while I get out of this dreadful robe.” She sets her hands on her hips and carefully arranges her features into something resembling sternness. “Who picked this? There was a reason it was stuffed in a bottom drawer.”

Five of her sisters point at Raitlia, who scowls. “And here I thought we agreed we wouldn't sell each other out.”

“Oh, _please_ , that robe is terrible and we all told you so.” Ca’ii snorts, though she’s looking at Kryn. “And like we don’t know that you just want to smooch your tall, grouchy, stubborn Sith. Don’t couch it in that bantha shit about work. The only reason you aren’t doing it now is because he’s too hung up on that armor to allow such shenanigans.” She grins widely. “I know. I asked.”

Kryn ignores all of this, marching toward her suite with her nose in the air. “I’m waiting.”

“Far be it from me to interfere with a request from a fellow Councilor,” he says, striding after her.

The suite’s main door has hardly closed behind them before she reaches up, yanks him downward, and removes his mask. She flings it toward one of the chairs and draws him to her for a kiss, long and slow and sweet. She smiles when they finally break apart, taking a deep breath. 

“That’s much better.” She wavers on her feet, giving him a grateful look when he catches her arm. “And -”

“And it will do for now because you are exhausted,” Marr says firmly, albeit with a hint of amusement in his voice, keeping an arm around her shoulders as they walk into her bedroom. “You’re not the only one not muting our bond and I’m certainly not as flexible as you’re imagining, nor are you. On top of this, you just woke up. I’m not going to land you in the medcenter and then have to explain why to Callidus. It will make meetings more awkward than I’m willing to stomach.” His expression softens, and he tilts her chin up, pressing another gentle kiss to her lips before sitting on the edge of the bed. “We have plenty of time for that later. Tonight, eat. Regain your energy. Visit with your sisters, all of whom have been here since we returned. I’ll inform Vowrawn that we can make the official announcement about Vitiate in ….” He glances at her, a question in his eyes.

Kryn slips the offending robe off her shoulders, leaving it in a floral puddle on the floor, and disappears into her large closet, returning with a soft, sleeveless, ivy-green dress. “I can be well enough in two days.” She examines her arms, turns to survey her back in the full length mirror. “Have these faded at all?”

“The worst of the bruising did, though you can still see remnants. Callidus is sure the darker parts are permanent, though he offered to work on a way to fade them if you choose.”

“I think I like them.” A trail of bruise-purple smudges mark her spine, and jagged, random bolts of the same color arc across the rest of her back and along her arms, though most of it fades below her hips. “They’re striking.” She studies her palms, the designs from the relic branded on them. “I expected my hands to look like more of a disaster, given what I remember before I lost consciousness.”

Marr remembers them peeling the bandages off her hands, Callidus’ concern that they’d be useless to her if they didn’t do something quickly. “They were … much worse.”

“Interesting.” She tilts one hand, watching the shadows move across the ridges, her gaze sharpening. “I think these are parts of incantations -”

“Kryn.” He doesn’t mean to snap her name quite so brusquely, but he can’t stop how his chest tightens. “Not today. Please.”

She looks up, startled, and catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry. I … I didn't think about what an ordeal this has been for you. To me, we were just on Tython earlier. But you -” She presses a hand to her chest, right where that tension has dug its claws into his own. “I’m sorry.”

“You are who you are,” he says with a good-natured sigh. “I just deluded myself into believing that maybe you’d give me more than twenty minutes’ respite when you woke up.” 

She grins at him. “But you love who I am.” She drags out _love_ for at least three beats, _looooooooove_ , and he can’t help but chuckle.

“I do, though I occasionally question what that says about my judgment.”

Kryn leans forward and kisses his cheek. “Come on. I’m hungry and that plate of food is calling my name.” The rumbling of her stomach corroborates this; she hurriedly pulls her dress on over her head, but not quickly enough to hide the flush that rushes across her cheeks. She smooths the dress out, looking sheepish. “See?”

“I’ll be out in a minute. I promised Vowrawn I’d contact him when you woke up. He's hounded me for daily updates since we returned.” He gives her a gentle push toward the door. “Go on.”

“Hey, you two are sure taking a long time to just kiss!” Vette’s taunt reaches through both closed doors. “We've got celebrating to do! Either make it a quickie or save it for later!”

He shakes his head at Kryn’s widening lecherous smile and questioning look. “No. Go _eat_.”

“Yes, _my lord_ ,” she says with more sass than usual. “Any other orders, my lord? Put my feet up? Drink a calming glass of warm milk? Watch reruns of holodramas from back in the good old days when the Holonet had quality programming?”

He doesn’t look up from his datapad. “Kryn, Callidus owes me a favor. I’ll have him put you on full bedrest for a month.” He pauses a beat, waits for her to wag her eyebrows. “In your own house. Alone.”

“Maybe _you_ need the calming glass of warm milk,” she sniffs, but she’s unsuccessful in her attempt to keep a straight face. “Don’t be in here working too long.”

“Yes, Councilor.”

He’s trying to get a rise out of her by using his _I’ve dismissed you_ work voice, but it’s not going to succeed; she’s far too happy just to be talking to him. She runs her fingers through the lengthening curls at the back of his head, pleased when he shivers. “And don’t cut these yet.”

“Yes, Councilor.”

This time, she concedes, it gets under her skin. Just a little. She folds her arms, tapping her toes. “Is that all you can say?”

“No, Councilor. But it’s all I’m going to say until you go back out there.”

Kryn cups his face and kisses him one more time, lingeringly, lost in it and him until she finally steps back, her fingertips light on his jaw. “All right, all right, workaholic. Do what you have to do.” She pauses in the doorway and he’s struck by how it mirrors his own actions every morning since they’d returned. “But don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Before he can answer, she’s left and closed the door behind her, shutting out most of the noise of the celebration in the main room. Marr smiles as he sends a brief message to the rest of the Council.

_Darth Nox has awakened. We move forward with the announcement in two days._


	54. Branching Pathways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes are coming to the Empire ... but aren't they always?

[1]  
Dresses of every conceivable cut and color, fabric and length, take up a large portion of Kryn’s closet, purchased on her travels all over the galaxy. She scrutinizes them with a critical eye, holding up one only to discard it for another, and then that for another and so on until she finally huffs an irritated sigh.

None of these will do.

She taps the holocom on her wrist, enters a frequency from memory, and waits.

“Kryn, darling!” Celinin Maifarr is Kryn’s go-to couturier, and they’ve become friends over the course of Kryn’s rapid rise through Imperial society. Dressing a Councilor who’s so often in the public eye has increased Celinin’s business exponentially, but she always makes time for her favorite client. “You didn’t let me dress you for the military ball this year! You’re lucky I was utterly swamped, or my feelings might have been hurt.” 

Kryn affects a pout, even though the cheerfulness in Celinin’s voice negates the effect of her lecture. “I know, and I’m sorry. Imperial business was bound and determined to ruin my good time this year.” She slathers on some extra charm and just a little bit of pleading. “Can I make it up to you with a rush job meant to showcase some truly interesting aftereffects of my last outing?”

Celinin clucks her tongue. “How rush are we talking?”

“Tomorrow.” Kryn cringes at Celinin’s sharp indrawn breath. “Wasn’t my choice but I’m stuck with absolutely _nothing_ to wear.”

“Tomorrow!” Celinin echoes in disbelief. “Tomorrow? I … hold on, let me transfer you to my comlink instead of the holocom so I can look at what I have.” A pause, a number of chirps, and Celinin’s hologram disappears. “I do have a few things I was planning on showing you the next time you came by. What are you trying to show off here?”

Kryn grins widely. Celinin may gripe every time Kryn has a fashion emergency, but she does dearly love challenges. “Back and arms, mostly. And it’s for a Council announcement on the Holonet, so you’re guaranteed plenty of eyes on whatever lovely garment you grace me with this time.”

“Oh, a Council announcement! I won’t pry but color me intrigued. So not this,” Celinin says, mostly to herself. “Not this, either. And this is more for a date. Oh! I have just the thing. How do you feel about sheer sleeves? Not as good as no sleeves, but it does present a more _political leader_ sort of appearance rather than a backless, sleeveless number would.”

“Color?”

“Black and ivory.” Before Kryn can say anything, Celinin continues. “I know, I know, it’s more sedate than you like, but I promise, this one is gorgeous. I can clear my schedule now and come over if you have time for a fitting. It’s also got a hat, and I can whip up an eyecovering out of the same solid black material or a few layers of the white gauze with some of the embroidery on it. I’ll bring both.”

Kryn glances at her chrono, though she’s not sure why. Her only instruction from Marr before he left for the Citadel this morning was _stay here and recuperate_ , so it certainly isn’t as though her schedule is full. “Yes, I’m free all day. I have quite a bit of company, so we may have an audience, but they’ll stay out of the way.”

“Fantastic! I’ll be there in … give me a half hour to round everything up and get over there. See you then.”

Celinin disconnects before Kryn can return the farewell, and Kryn grins. “Black and ivory, hmm? Let’s see what we have that works with that.” She steps out of her closet and opens a sizeable standing jewelry box. “But it’s for … so I don’t want to be _too_ flashy ….”

“ _You_ are talking about scaling back flashiness?” Ca’ii asks, sticking her head in the door. “Are you feeling all right, big sister? Do you need to have a rest?” She comes all the way in the room, inspecting the contents of the jewelry box. “Oh, look how pretty all of these are! What are you choosing?”

Kryn pulls out four necklaces and drapes them on her bed. “My couturier is coming in a few minutes; I need to be fitted for a dress for tomorrow.”

“You have someone who _dresses you_?” Ca’ii gasps as her blue eyes light up. “How exciting! Can I watch?”

Kryn gives Ca’ii a wry look. “I’m sorry, did you all plan on actually minding your own business for once? I’m shocked.”

“Ha ha.” Ca’ii makes for the door. “I’ll scrounge up drinks and some snacks.”

Kryn bites back a sigh. Ca’ii has even less interest in social niceties than Kryn, which is fine when they're getting up to trouble on Nar Shaddaa, but not when they're in Kaas City. “She’s coming over for business, not to play pazaak, Ca’ii. Please do not rush into my kitchen and emerge with a plate full of beer nuts and pickles or something.”

“They’ll be _classy_ snacks!” Ca’ii rolls her eyes at Kryn. “Have a little faith in me. Plus I’ll get Rafana to help. Rafana’s snooty.” And before Kryn can reply, Ca’ii is gone, already hollering at whoever else is in the main room.

The door chimes a prompt thirty minutes later; Kryn twists her hair, finally growing out into a length she can work with, into a small bun at the nape of her neck as she crosses the room to answer it, surprised to see that Ca’ii has put together a decent spread of wine and cheeses. A tap on the panel and the door slides back, revealing a human woman with short, spiky black hair, bright blue eyes, and arms full of jingling bangle bracelets, towering a good ten inches over the diminutive Kryn. “Celinin! Come in.” 

“You do have quite the crowd!” Celinin looks around at the assembled women. “None are designers, I hope!”

Kryn waves this off. “You know me better than that. No, my friend Jeyn,” here she beckons to Ca’ii, “and her crew are old friends of mine. They’re in town for a few days and we decided to get together. They promised to stay out of your way while we do this, though. Everyone, this is Celinin, one of the best designers in Kaas City.” 

Celinin inclines her head. “Pleasure to meet all of you. My lord, shall we begin?”

“‘My lord’?” Kryn arches a brow. “Really?”

Celinin shrugs. “Habit?”

“Silliness.” Kryn makes a _gimme_ motion at the bag Celinin has draped over one arm. “Let’s see!” Celinin holds it out; Kryn lifts it off her arm and disappears into her room, returning a short moment later in the dress, grinning brightly as her sisters, scattered on the couches, _ooh_ and _ahh_. The black dress is demure in the front, its long, sheer ivory sleeves falling nearly to the floor. The back is open, effortlessly displaying Kryn's newly acquired scars. “It’s gorgeous!”

Celinin narrows her eyes, giving Kryn a critical once-over. On top of Celinin’s usual exacting attention to detail, Kryn is one of her best walking advertisements, and thus nothing less than perfection will suffice. “Needs adjustments.” She kicks a footstool over in front of the floor-to-ceiling transparisteel, then snaps her fingers and points at it. “Up here.” 

To her sisters’ surprise, Kryn doesn’t even voice a complaint at this bossy behavior, stepping onto the footstool with nary a peep and obediently holding out her arms while Celinin measures and pins and mutters to herself. “Go get your shoes, Kryn. I don’t want to hem it until you’re wearing them.”

Kryn hitches up the skirt and darts back into her room, then out again, climbing back onto the footstool. “I’ve been waiting to wear these,” she says, sticking out one foot to display a lovely black heeled boot with ivory detailing. 

“I finally got the hem the right length on the first try,” Celinin says, pleased with her work. She measures again, makes a note on a datapad. “This is the lowest heel I’ve seen on you, so I’ll mark this as your baseline. I don’t have much to take in; I can do it -” 

She stops when Kryn’s holocom chimes; Kryn gives her an apologetic look and lifts her wrist, tapping a button. “Darth Nox.”

“My dear, so good to see you up and about!” Vowrawn’s hologram is cheery as always, showing the Sith relaxing back in his office chair. “I wish I was calling for social reasons, but unfortunately it’s all work, work, work today. I hate to interrupt your last day off, but we need to have a Council meeting and I require your attendance. I’d prefer you be there in person, but if you can’t, you do need to attend via hologram.”

“You _require_ my attendance?” This is most unlike Vowrawn, and Kryn gives him a curious look. “If you’re requiring the full Council -”

Vowrawn is already shaking his head, staving off her impending questions. He knew she was going to ask, but this has to be played more deftly. “Yes, it’s of great import. No, I’m not telling you what it is. How will you be attending, my dear?”

Kryn directs an inquisitive glance Celinin’s way; this is waved off. “I have all the measurements I need, and even if I didn’t, I could wait. Go.”

“I’ll be there in person. Let me get dressed -” She looks down. “In something else, and I’ll be there momentarily. An hour, say? Or do you need me sooner?”

She’d swear the Sith was pouting. “What sort of taskmaster do you take me for, my dear? I’m not like certain other members of our august body; starting times are merely a suggestion. Just let me know when you arrive and I’ll call the meeting.” 

He disconnects, leaving Kryn staring at her holocom. “Well, that was abrupt.”

“Go change,” Celinin says, waving in the direction of Kryn’s quarters. “You need to get going and I have work to do. I’ll finish the alterations and leave the gown here.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure Jeyn and her crew will leave you alone.” Kryn steps down off the footstool, surveys her sisters, most of whom are looking far too mischievous for her liking. “On second thought, you can use my study. Come with me.” She leads Celinin through her anteroom, points her at one of the side doors. “In there. Should be a large desk with a clean top. I’ll be right back with the dress.”

She leaves Celinin getting set up, disappears into her room, and carefully extracts herself from the pinned dress, replacing it with an armorweave shirt, armored chestplate, and smooth black skirt. She pulls on a pair of boots with maybe a few too many buckles on them - not that she’d ever admit this - and picks up the dress.

Celinin is tapping her foot by the time Kryn appears in the doorway. “Waiting on you.”

“I didn’t feel like removing all your pins,” Kryn says archly, “by having them stuck in my skin while I pulled the dress off.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Celinin lifts the dress off of Kryn’s arm, then lays it flat on the large desk, already opening the large case she’d brought in from her speeder. “Depending on how long your meeting is, I may be done by the time you get back. Have fun running the Empire.”

Kryn chuckles. “Always do! I’ll have my holocom if you need anything.”

[2]  
The early afternoon lull is Barash’s second favorite time of day. He should have time to get most of his pre-closing checklist done before the closing surge of customers who want something warm to carry out with them as they depart. He’s crouched down, poking through the back contents of one of his cabinets, when someone clears their throat behind him. He turns, leaps to his feet, and can’t wipe the astonishment off his face. “My lord!”

“Hello, Barash.” Kryn has missed her chats with the outgoing barista. She leans on the counter, smiles widely. “Can I get my usual before I go to this meeting?”

“Of course!” He plucks a large cup off the stack, sets to making her drink. “My line’s been awfully dull without you around, my lord. Darth Vowrawn tries his best and does an admirable job, but he certainly doesn’t come by as often as you do.”

She opens her mouth to argue, then remembers she does have a habit of coming by for caf three or four times a day. “I’ll tell him to drink more caf at the meeting.” A pause, and she gives him a sly glance. “So. How’s Bryasere?” she asks, too casually.

“Good! Things have been busy, of course, but not too much more so than usual, so we still have plenty of time to -” He stops, peers around the caf machine at her, coughs. “I mean, Lord Algrei is -”

“Absolutely smitten with you, just like you are with her.” Kryn had been resisting the urge to meddle for what feels like _ages_ , hoping they'd finally stop giving each other sidelong pining looks and just admit how they felt, by the time they finally did. She puts a finger to her lips. “Your secret is safe with me. Has been for awhile.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Remember, I come by the caf stand a lot. I notice things. You two are cute.”

A faint flush stains Barash’s cheeks. “I’m not entirely sure on the protocol for responding to this, my lord.” He chuckles and hands over her cup.

“No protocol.” She takes a sip, sighs with happiness. “I’m just glad you’re beyond looking longingly at each other. Must run; I’ll let you get back to your work. See you tomorrow, Barash.” 

She sweeps down the hallway, making her way toward Vowrawn’s office. Here and there, she stops for brief conversations, answering a flurry of questions from a variety of Sith. She's reaching for the door panel when Vowrawn steps through the main door of his wing.

“What excellent timing, my dear!” He proffers a bow, inclines his head toward the lift. “We’re meeting upstairs. You know how I hate that dreary room underground.”

The doors close behind them and Kryn fixes her friend with a stare. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t divulge the purpose of the meeting.” Vowrawn shakes his head, though his sadness isn’t entirely genuine. “I know that I rarely keep anything from you, but this is one of those rare times.”

Kryn leans against the wall of the lift and pouts. “This better be worth it. I’m simply dying of curiosity.”

“Oh, it will be.” 

The doors open, and they step out into the hallway at the same time Otium, Mortis, and Tenere step out of the other lift. Kryn doesn’t miss the look that Lana gives Vowrawn, nor the one that Atroxa and Mortis exchange, and she nudges Lana. Surely _Lana_ won't leave her in the dark. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry.” Lana shakes her head. “I can’t say.”

Now completely out of sorts, Kryn follows the others into the conference room. They’re the last to arrive, the rest of the chairs already occupied, Marr and Atroxa bent over some datapad or other. Once everyone has taken their seats and Rictus’ hologram appears, Vowrawn stands and signals for quiet.

“First, I’d like to welcome Darth Nox back. Things have certainly been quiet with you gone,” he says, smiling at her. “Meetings have gone faster, true, but they’ve been far more dull.”

Kryn unsuccessfully covers her snicker with a cough. “Thank you.”

“Now, to the business that is the purpose of this meeting.” Vowrawn has considered how to approach this, and ultimately decided that the direct method is best. “As we all know, the Council has been running the Empire for quite some time, and that will not change with the death of Vitiate. However, we are also pursuing a much more diplomacy-minded foreign policy, which means interactions with heads of state that we normally wouldn’t have otherwise had. Darth Otium, as this is your sphere, would you care to -”

“Oh, no, Darth Vowrawn, I’d hate to step on your toes,” Otium says hurriedly, lifting her hands as if to ward him off. “You’re doing an excellent job. Please, continue.”

Vowrawn offers a silent prayer to anyone in the galaxy that might be listening that his friend doesn’t actually kill him this time. “This body has voted, ten for and two abstaining, that Darth Marr take up the mantle of Emperor.”

Kryn’s mouth falls open, and she can’t help leaning forward to look at Marr, two chairs down from her. She’s not alone; the attention of every Sith in the room is directed at the still, silent Councilor.

Marr laces his fingers together, sets them on the table. “I must have heard you incorrectly, Vowrawn.”

“No, my friend. You didn’t.” Vowrawn shows no signs of his typical easy good humor. “You defeated Vitiate. You struck the killing blow. The Empire is already dealing with upheaval from the Vitiatum, Vitiate’s death, the end of slavery, Ziost. We need - the _people_ need - some form of constancy, and this will provide that. The entire Empire -” He stops, corrects himself again. “The entire galaxy knows who you are. You command respect from Empire and Republic alike. You must see the prudence of this decision.”

From the far end of the table, Mortis coughs, slides a datapad toward Vowrawn. “Just tell him all of it and get it over with, Vowrawn.”

“And ….” Vowrawn grabs the datapad, turns it over in his hands, but doesn’t finish his sentence.

Marr has never seen Vowrawn like this, not in the forty years he’s known him. It’s worrisome. “Out with it!”

“We feel it would be best, barring you deciding to become a planet-devouring monstrosity - which I might add we would prefer you _not_ do - that the throne be tied to blood. We’ve compiled a dossier of eligible, acceptable matches for you.”

Kryn ruthlessly suppresses the sinking feeling in her stomach, a mischievous smile lighting her face. “Let me see!” Before Vowrawn can stop her, she’s pulled the datapad out of his hand with the Force and is looking through it. “I didn’t get any say; I should at least get to see who you - ooh, she’s _pretty_. And serious! Definitely put her on the maybe pile, Darth Marr.”

“Nox.” The admonition has little bite to it. “May we continue?”

Kryn looks almost abashed. “Pardon me. Do proceed.”

“So you’re telling me,” Marr says, and he sounds calm but Vowrawn knows from experience this is the sort of calm that usually means his friend is ready to murder someone with his bare hands, “that not only did you vote me Emperor without a single whisper of consent from me, but I also am now required to marry someone from this list you’ve compiled?”

While he isn’t opposed to the idea of acting as head of state - not entirely opposed, anyway, despite the fact he’d been half considering broaching the retirement regulations in the next few years - he for damn sure isn’t marrying some stranger off a list created by Vowrawn and the rest of the Council. He’s given the majority of his life to the Empire, and with this he will give the rest of his life to it, but the Empire will _not_ decide something so personal for him. There are plenty of ways to determine succession that do not require a surrender of freedom that he cannot countenance.

To both Marr and Vowrawn’s surprise, however, it’s Kryn that speaks first. “While they’ve all had a chance to discuss this, I’d just like to add my two credits, if I may? This is a chance for you to get away from sitting in meetings, will let you affect change for the Empire on a wider scale, will let you _lead_ the Empire down this new road. Yes, we’ll continue doing what the Council does, but you’ll be conducting outreach to heads of state, cementing diplomatic treaties, securing the legacy you’ve already begun.” She turns her palms up, shrugs. “I think it’s a good idea.”

Marr nods. “Noted. Why now, Vowrawn? Why a special meeting for this?”

“Because I want to announce it tomorrow when we announce what happened to Vitiate, giving the appearance of a seamless transition of leadership.” Vowrawn takes a deep breath. “And because I’d like you to speak to the - to _your_ Empire in a week.”

Marr looks down at his hands, by all appearances considering the proposition. _Kryn. We need to discuss this tonight._

_Indeed! I’ve selected some very lovely women for you._

_I’m sure._

“Oh.” Vowrawn starts. “You’ll need to choose someone to take over your sphere. We can -”

Marr waves this away. “Lord Algrei will assume control of the sphere. That decision is the easiest to make. I will speak to her after this meeting.” He falls silent again. “I will do this. I will not give you an answer on … _that_ ,” he says, not even trying to scrub the distaste from his voice as he points at the datapad still in Kryn’s hands, “until a later date.”

“No need. All we’re looking at now is tomorrow and the first speech a week from today. Mortis is still working on drafting the laws that will govern this and cement the throne to your family, and we can determine the details of any ceremony later on.” Vowrawn’s gaze shifts from Marr to Kryn and back. “It’s not a decision taken lightly, and we understand that. Speak with Bryasere today. She will join us tomorrow, if she agrees to take your seat.”

Everyone stands to leave; Marr taps his wrist. “Second, I require your presence in my office as soon as I return. Whatever you’re doing now can wait.”

Kryn lags behind, waiting for Marr, and he smiles at the similarity to the days when she’d linger just to torment him a few minutes longer. “Did you know about this?” he asks when they’re the only two left in the room. “If so, your shielding technique is stronger than I realized.”

“No. Vowrawn refused to tell me what the meeting was for.” She still has the datapad in her hands. “I wasn’t being facetious before; I’ve been looking through here and there are some interesting people. I’ve marked them.” She holds it out, pleased at how steady she sounds. “The Empire comes first. You’re a good choice for Emperor.”

Even muted, her pride sings across their bond.

He takes it, his fingers grazing hers, not mentioning the melancholy she thinks she’s kept hidden from him. “As you say,” he says, too neutral for her liking, already headed for the door. “I need to speak with Bryasere.”

“Wait.” She stops, waits for him to turn. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. What are the views on Councilors who have relations with non-Force sensitives?”

He’s not sure why it matters now. “Councilors may do what they like, Kryn, and do not care about petty gossip.” 

“Good. Because your Second is very much in love with Barash Clechad, and I would hate for her to have to choose between him and your promotion.” Kryn sighs with relief. “That would be awful,” she murmurs, half to herself.

Marr opens the door, watches her exit, and follows behind her. “Thank you for the information.”

“I just know how you enjoy covering all possible angles. And you said you wanted to talk tonight? Are you coming to my house, or shall I come to yours?”

His house has been hers for some time, and she knows it; he wonders if this distancing is purposeful. “I know your company is still here, and I’d prefer this to be private.” A thought occurs to him, and he smiles. “I’d like to talk in our garden.” The briefest pause. “If you are amenable.”

“I am.” She brushes her fingertips across his arm. “I’m looking forward to it, actually. I’ve missed sitting up there with you. I’ll see you tonight.” Before he can say anything else, she’s stepped into the lift, closing the doors behind her.

[3]  
Bryasere is already on her feet, datapad in hand, as Marr strides through the doors into the main office. He beckons at the device, then her desk. “You won’t need that, Second. Come along.” He settles into his chair, waits for her to sit, and considers how to begin. “Bryasere, I wish you to assume control of the sphere.”

She blinks at him, nonplussed. “Are you going somewhere, my lord? You haven’t informed me of any mission. I’ve been operating under the impression that you planned to remain in Kaas City for some time after Tython.”

“I’m not leaving Kaas City, but I am relinquishing control of the sphere.” He pulls a datapad out of his desk. “To you, preferably. You are the most qualified to run it, after all.”

“My lord … I ….” She inhales, exhales. “I would need time to consider. And I would know why you are abdicating your seat. This is not like you.”

“You hesitate.” Despite Kryn’s inquiry about the barista, Marr is surprised. “Why?”

Bryasere leans back in her chair, trying to decide how to word her problem without giving away too much information. “It’s a question of propriety, my lord. As Councilors are leaders and examples, it wouldn’t do if a Councilor was … involved with a non-Force sensitive; the Sith consider themselves above such things.”

“Council seats are not hereditary, no matter what Jadus thought.” His thoughts drift to Kryn, and how she has never cared about the opinions of anyone within the Citadel. Or outside it, for that matter. “And should a Councilor care about rumors? I understand your point, Bryasere, but I’ve also watched how you’ve handled all manner of Imperials. I can’t imagine you buckling under pressure because someone is unhappy you’re involved with the heir to one of the largest businesses in Kaas City.”

The gasp flies from Bryasere’s mouth before she can stop it. “I - my lord! You -” She stops, coughs, closes her eyes, composes herself. “I didn’t know you knew.”

“Let’s just say that Darth Nox is a very observant person.” He slides the datapad toward Bryasere. “This contains all the duties that you would take on, as well as the ones that you no longer need worry about. I’ve also included a list of potential Seconds for you, though you are of course free to disregard this list if you know of a better candidate.”

She takes it, sets it aside. “My lord, I didn’t say I would do it. You have yet to tell me _why_.”

“The Council,” he says, pressing a hand to his temple, “wishes me to fill Vitiate’s seat.”

“Emperor!” she exclaims. She’d formed her theories, but this certainly wasn’t on the list. “I … think it’s an excellent strategic move on the part of the Council, actually. You have the reputation within the Empire, and the former alliance with the Republic, as well as the needed gravitas for the role." She won't be the only thing holding him back from this. "Given this new information, I will accept your offer.”

Pleased, Marr nods. “There is no other Sith I trust to manage the sphere as well as I know you will.” He sends a brief message. “Normally, this would be done in the Council chambers, but we’ll make an exception this once. You will stand with the Council during the announcement tomorrow, as well.”

The rest of the Council filter into the room; once Marr’s holocom chirps, Rictus on the other end, Marr stands, making his way around his desk to Bryasere’s side. “Lord Algrei, by order of the Council and in light of your years of unparalleled, peerless, and faithful service, you are now Darth Adamas, head of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire. You will continue to work in tandem with the Sphere of Military Strategy and the Sphere of Military Offense, protecting our people and our Empire from enemies both without and within. With them, you are ruler of all the Sith.”

He stands back, watching the rest of the Council welcome her to their ranks. It’s a strange feeling, passing the duty he’s had for the majority of his adult life on to someone else, even though he knows Bryasere is more than up to the task. At the end of the day, this will no longer be his office. Tomorrow, he won’t have a reason to come to the Citadel at all, come to think of it.

He’s suddenly not sure if he’s been promoted or put out to pasture.

Kryn finishes congratulating Bryasere and turns to him, watching him curiously. _You feel out of sorts. Are you all right?_

_Today has been ... full of unexpected events._

A slight smile teases the corner of her mouth. _It has. It will be good to sit down and discuss all this tonight._

Vowrawn clears his throat. “Let’s all get back to work so Darth Marr can finish turning over his sphere to our new Council member.” As everyone moves toward the door, he turns to Marr. “Whether or not you join us tomorrow is up to you, my friend. If I might make a recommendation, however?”

“Vowrawn, never in our long association have you _ever_ held your tongue. Why would you start now?” Marr folds his arms, looks down at his oldest friend. “If this is how you’re going to act from now on, you can take your Council vote and shove it.”

Vowrawn holds his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “I was just trying to be polite. My recommendation would be to stay here. I’ll say you’re meditating, preparing to address the Empire in one week’s time. This way, everyone sees the full Council, you’re not standing there looking like the odd man out, everything proceeds smoothly.”

“Very well.” Marr returns to his chair. “And before you ask, yes, of course I’m going to watch the announcement.”

Vowrawn smiles and offers an only slightly sarcastic bow before departing, the door whispering closed behind him.

[4]  
An hour later, Marr’s office door opens, revealing the former Councilor and a very large box.

“Darth Adamas, the sphere is yours.” He sets the box on the ground. “I look forward to seeing what you do with it.”

Bryasere stands, opens her mouth, closes it. “My lord, I … thank you. For this opportunity. And for the opportunity to serve you and learn from you all these years. It has been an honor. And I can think of no better Sith to take on the duty you have taken on.”

Marr inclines his head. “Til next we meet, Councilor.”

He checks his chrono as he sets the box in the back seat of his speeder. He should have just enough time to finish what he needs to do before he meets Kryn.


	55. From the Stars to the Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which questions are asked and answered, a bet is settled, and Darth Marr finally surprises the Council.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They do not love who give the body and keep  
> The heart ungiven; nor they who yield the soul,  
> And guard the body. Love doth give the whole;  
> Its range being high as heaven, as ocean deep,  
> Wide as the realms of air or planet’s curving sweep.
> 
> ~"Love's Trinity," Alfred Austin

[1]  
The jungle surrounding Kaas City is dotted with hidden family vaults, constructed by Sith unwilling to have their resources consolidated in one estate within the city boundaries. One such vault belongs to the Kallan family, its entrance concealed by an artfully created false rock slab. Marr feels underneath the overgrowth for the security plate, types in the code, listens as the door slides open. One last look around, and he ducks under the vines and through the opening. The door closes behind him, leaving him in what would be total darkness if it weren’t for his mask. 

After a moment the lights activate, revealing a massive vault stretching into the rock wall. It houses ten generations’ worth of family treasures of the Kallan line, all the way back to Hadrianus Cadfael Kallan and his wife Thais, the two responsible for the elevation of their bloodline in 1026. It’s an eclectic collection, from books and clothing to jewelry and holos. The jewelry, much of it housed in elegant display cases, highlights each family’s distinct style, the tradition in the Empire. The most prominent families can be recognized by their jewelry alone, and Marr has no doubt that if any of this were to fall into the hands of properly educated historians, they would have been able to pinpoint the family that commissioned it. 

The area closest to the door was to be his own, and it is woefully sparse. It contains his first commissioned portrait, that of a surly-looking toddler in too-ornate robes, taken when he was confirmed Force-sensitive. His mother never let him live that tantrum down, he remembers. There’s a holo of him and Sya, left here only because whether he likes it or not she was a part of his history. He hardly recognizes himself in that picture.

And there’s one of him and Kryn, put here just a few months ago. He’s much more recognizable in this one. She’d insisted on yet another picture for her rapidly filling album of holos of the two of them; he’d made some straight-faced comment just as she’d gone to take it, and she’s laughing uproariously while he stands there, having a harder time than usual keeping a smile off his face. 

He sets the holo down and surveys the vault, deep in thought.

The Council gave him a datapad of “eligible matches,” but selecting a consort from a predetermined list has never been an option, and wouldn't be even if they gave him all the time in the world to choose. 

No, he will not have a consort. He will have an empress, and there is only one who is his equal. 

He would select something of his mother’s, but Katina always favored too-utilitarian styles. Grandmother Iria preferred violet gems, which Kryn would certainly like, and he’s striding toward her section of the vault when an idea occurs to him. A slow smile spreads across his face as he turns around, weaving through aisles before he stops in front of a large, lighted case.

Grandmother Adrijana’s collection is delicate and colorful, most of the jewelry worked into shapes of people and animals and flowers. Family legend holds she did so purely to annoy her mother-in-law, who was so incensed that her son had chosen to throw over an arranged marriage for a secret love match that she didn’t speak to the couple for four years. 

Adrijana and Varinius and their saccharine love story became the subject of an opera, _Varius and Adriana_ , which was popular almost from its release and has become a staple of Imperial culture. It’s Kryn’s favorite opera, and so while she’d like something of Iria’s on aesthetic alone, she’ll _love_ something of Adrijana’s.

But what?

One drawer in the case houses a selection of rings and he pores over them, picking up first one, then another. He checks his chrono and sighs; he should have set aside more time for this, but he hadn’t realized it was going to be this difficult to choose. He’s about to close the drawer and go look at Iria’s jewelry when one ring catches his eye. The metal is worked into a butterfly, with gems in various sizes and shades of purple and green providing the color in the wings.

It's perfect. 

He searches through a second drawer, withdrawing a square of rich black cloth, and wraps the ring in it. After securing the ring in a small hidden compartment on his gauntlet, he strides out of the vault. 

[2]  
It’s a nightmare, feeling this dread pulling at her heart and working twice as hard to keep it shielded from Marr, Kryn thinks as she sits in her parked speeder, one hand pressed to her chest while she tries to will this knot of agony away. When she agreed that everything they did was for the Empire, that the Empire would always come first, she meant that she was willing to die in pursuit of that goal. 

Not that she was willing to watch him disappear into the sunset with someone else.

It's not as though she doesn't know about political marriages; they happen all the time. But it wasn't supposed to happen to _her_. She isn’t sure she can’t stand it, isn’t sure she can play the part of dutiful little Council member while he and his new bride wave to the crowds and dance at royal balls and have children together and -

Kryn punches her dashboard, scowling at the crack that appears.

She _hates_ this. 

Hates the jealousy, hates feeling clingy, hates not being able to let go. This is why she didn’t get involved with anyone to this extent before. Not being able to let go only leads to heartache, which is exactly what she’s staring down, even as she cracks jokes while she skims through lists of eminently proper women.

She stomps up the stairs and through the main room, ignoring all of her sisters in the process, and makes her way into the kitchen. Fishing a glass out of the cupboard, she uncorks a bottle of liquor she’d been saving for an undetermined special occasion and pours herself a large glassful, swirling the shimmery purple liquid before taking a generous drink.

When she steps back into the main room, Ca’ii points in the direction of her suite. “Celinin - that’s her name, right? - said that your dress is ready and she’s looking forward to seeing you in it tomorrow.” The Mirialan looks at Kryn’s face, then the glass in her hand, and points at the empty seat next to her. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Kryn is not talking about this with her sister. Not with any of her sisters. Not with anyone. “I just … had a long day, that’s all. Got some unexpected news. I’m going to enjoy my booze, and then I’m going out for awhile.”

Rafana raises an eyebrow. “Sister, I’m not even Force-sensitive and I can tell something is bothering you.”

“Yes. But I’m not talking about it. Political things. Don’t need Raitlia all angry at me.” Kryn tries for a smile, though it's more of a grimace. “It’s nothing that concerns any of you. I’ll be fine.”

She’s through her main door, closing it behind her before anyone else can say anything, and she looks at the gown hanging in front of her closet. Celinin’s work is flawless, and a lovely and delicate eyecovering is draped over one shoulder, too. She tries not to dwell on how fitting it is she’s wearing black for this announcement, makes a face at her own maudlin thoughts.

There’s nothing that can be done about it. She knows better than anyone that nothing is permanent, and it’s her own fault for thinking this would be different. All she can do is enjoy the time they have left, and that’s exactly what she plans on doing. Kryn sets the glass on her desk and opens her closet, extracting a flowing deep blue dress. 

[3]  
Marr smiles as his door opens; Kryn is already there, sitting on a stool and bent over a stack of flimsiplast, writing furiously. She doesn’t look up, though she does wave with her free hand. 

He deposits the box next the door, leaves his mask on top of it, and makes his way over to her, resting his hands on her shoulders. She’s focused on her work and she’s happy to see him but there’s something else, an undercurrent of somberness that isn’t like her. It’s muted, severely so, and he doesn’t mention it, opts for something less intrusive. “Let me know when I won’t be interrupting.”

Her pen stills almost immediately, and she swivels around to face him. “I wasn’t sure when you’d get back and I’ve been putting off this treatise for too long now, but now that you’re home I can work on it later.” She tilts her head up, gives him a look bordering on coquettish. “Especially if you’re interrupting me for a kiss.”

“You know me so well.” He bends, presses a gentle kiss to her lips, then settles onto the stool next to her, watching her work. She's wearing that blue dress he loves, the one that cinches right below her breasts and flows around her when she walks. 

She takes his breath away without even trying, just sitting there writing. 

Kryn pulls a sheet of flimsy off the bottom of the stack, passes it to him. “I was doing some thinking about this speech you have to give, how it’s going to be your first presentation of yourself to the Empire, and took some notes. It’s a good time to update your image, if you’ve a mind.”

It seems everyone has suggestions for how to change his life today, but he's more willing to listen to her than to anyone else. “Do tell. ”

She turns, propping her legs up on his. “My first suggestion is to lose the mask.” She holds up her hands before he can protest. “Believe me, I greatly enjoy keeping your lovely face to myself, but hear me out. You’re already going to have to restore your records to the Imperial database; there’s no reason for your face to remain hidden.” She smooths her fingers across the crease appearing between his brows. “Don’t give me that look. It gives you an air of transparency, rather than shrouding yourself in secrecy like Vitiate. Now that you’re leading the Empire, you want the Empire to know who you are.”

He leans into her touch, hums with pleasure when her fingertips skim through the hair at his temple. It takes concentration to remember they were discussing something important. “What else?”

“I’d suggest something more regal for your armor. Stay with the same general silhouette you have, but have something new made. Functional, but more fitting for your station.” She taps her nails on the countertop. “I would wager every book I own that Talieste has the schematics for your armor saved. I’m sure she could come up with a suitable compromise between what you have now and what an emperor should wear, as long as you talk to her soon. Maybe send her a message this evening.”

His eyes narrow. “No capes, Kryn.”

Damn, he wasn’t supposed to catch on that quickly. She pouts. “Please? You look so _good_ in them. Just imagine it: standing at the Spires, the wind sending your cape billowing behind you.” She sighs wistfully. “I’d love to watch that on the Holonet.”

“No.”

“Spoilsport.”

His hand strays to the compartment on his gauntlet, and he stands. “Before we talk about anything else, let me get out of this apparently non-regal armor, and we’ll go sit in the garden?” When she doesn’t stand, he eyes her curiously. Normally she’d be right behind him, but tonight she’s picking up her pen, her attention returning to her writing. “Coming?”

“No.” She finishes her sentence, dots the period, begins another. “I can get through this section while you’re changing, and then leave it for the rest of the night.”

He’s certain she’s distancing herself now, though he doesn’t know why. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

She’s still writing when he returns, attired far more comfortably in a loose-fitting pair of black linen trousers. He combs his fingers through her hair, working it loose from its bun and pulling it to the side so he can kiss the nape of her neck. She gasps, reaching backward, her fingertips grazing his side, and for a moment that echo of sadness fades. “If I could tear you away from your studies again, _qilitzarai_?”

“Of course.” She slides off the stool and takes his hand, following him toward the door. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, truth be told. I’ve been enjoying the time with my sisters, but I’d been hoping to get back to our routine.” 

“As have I.” Not only does he miss their everyday routine, today's events have thrown into motion a course of action he's been mulling over since their return from Odacer-Faustin, and he's been looking forward to their time alone. 

The lift rises soundlessly; the doors open on the sorely neglected garden. Weeds overrun nearly every flower bed and creep between cracks in the paving stones. Kryn gasps, surveying the damage. “What happened? It looks like you haven’t been here in ages!”

“I’ve been with you since we got back from Tython.” They walk quickly through the rain, taking cover in the small gazebo they’d added to the center of the garden shortly before leaving on that mission. “I suppose I can work on it tomorrow,” he adds, hoping he doesn't sound petulant, “now that I don’t need to be at the Citadel.” 

She waits until he sits down to curl up next to him, looping her arm through his. “I … didn’t know you’d been there the whole time, Matthius.” There’s more she wants to say, but she can’t seem to make the words come. All she can focus on is remembering all of this, filing it away with the rest of her memories so she can take them out when she needs them later on, when this is gone.

For a time, the only sound is the rain pattering on the top of the gazebo. Marr takes Kryn’s free hand, tracing abstract designs on her skin. No matter his choice, no matter her decision, he will continue to serve the Empire, and so his decision can be secondary to his desire to be with her. She is the fulcrum upon which everything rests; for once in his life he's going to be selfish. 

“You’re studying our hands awfully intently.” 

Kryn’s teasing words draw him out of his introspection. He gazes at her long enough that she fidgets under the scrutiny; he has yet to grow tired of watching her, even after all this time, even as the Force binds them together. Releasing her hands, he stands and makes his way to the railing of the gazebo. “I suppose it’s my turn to confess something,” he says, just loud enough to be heard. “I’ve been keeping a secret from you. Saving it for the right time.”

Kryn’s eyebrow arches in genuine surprise, wondering what secrets could be left. “Have you?”

“I have.” He takes a deep breath, watching the city lights for a moment, then turns back to her.

She can't quite quash a twinge of worry, unsure she can handle much more today. “Matthius, if you -”

He doesn't wait for her to finish, and she forgets what she was going to say at the first note that comes soaring out of his mouth, clear and powerful and beautiful. 

It's the romanza from _Varius and Adriana_ , Kryn’s favorite opera, where Varius defies his mother and sings of his love for the charming Adriana. She watches him raptly, captivated by the emotion in Marr’s voice and on his face as he sings of Adriana’s shining hair and her melodious voice. Sings of how she lingers in Varius’ mind and resides in his soul. Sings of how she’s the air in his lungs and the song in his heart.

She’s still staring when he finishes, the last note fading into the night, and snaps her mouth closed when she realizes it’s hanging open. “You can sing. You can sing opera! And you never told me!” 

“There’s just no casual way to slip opera into a conversation, unfortunately.” Not that he’s necessarily tried very hard. He shrugs. “Every child with a proper upbringing is given classes in the arts. I'm rubbish at drawing. My piano skills are fair but I was never as good as my mother would have liked. Singing was the arena where I excelled, though not enough to ever be bound for the Bureau of Cultural Expansion. Opera was one of the advanced vocal courses.” A slightly pained look crosses his face. “I played Varius one time, my second-to-last year at the Academy.”

Something else occurs to her. “But you … you hate that opera!”

“I do, but _you_ don’t.” He crosses to her, takes her hands, and pulls her off the bench. “Vowrawn is correct: royal seats of this nature most often pass the title through blood. However, I have no wish to entertain a parade of ‘viable consorts’ selected by the Council.”

Kryn gives him a look full of disappointment. “I know you better than anyone else does; I’d think you could at least trust my ability to find you someone suitable, if not anyone else’s.” She bites the inside of her lip, hating the bitterness in her voice. “As much as I might not want to. We agreed the Empire comes first.”

“I appreciate the offer of assistance, but I’ve already chosen someone.” Before her face can fall, he fishes something small out of his pocket and drops to one knee. “In all the Empire, there is no one more perfectly suited for me than you, and the cost of this title is too high if it means losing you. If you want to leave things the way they are between us, I will decline the Council’s request before the announcement tomorrow. After all, there are many other ways to serve the Empire.” 

He smiles up at her and unwraps the small, rich black cloth in his hand. “But I love you, and I would marry no other, no matter what shape our future takes.”

Kryn can’t seem to remember how to breathe, can’t hear anything over the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She can count the number of times she’s been rendered utterly mute on one hand, prides herself on her quick wit, but all she can do is gape at him, kneeling in front of her and bathed in the soft glow of the single light of the gazebo, holding a sparkling ring, gold and gems worked into a gorgeous butterfly. 

When she doesn’t say anything, he raises an eyebrow. “Are you just making me wait because you didn’t have to coerce me into kneeling this time?”

This penetrates her shock, and a teasing smirk tugs one corner of her mouth. “Maybe? You know how distracted I get when you kneel.”

“Such cruelty.” His eyes sparkle with humor, not leaving her face as he takes her hand and presses a long, slow kiss to the back of it. “And after I sang your favorite song!”

Her expression grows more tender as she gazes at him, though it’s tenderness edged with melancholy. “But you have a whole selection of eligible women. The proper sort of women.”

He hadn’t bargained on her _arguing_ with him. “Kryn, you are the reason I was able to kill Vitiate. You are a Councilor. Your eligibility is without question.”

“I'm an alien.” She snarls the last word like it tastes bad, but he knows how things work, and she isn’t sure why he’s making her explain it. “People will say - “

“I don't care what they say.” How freeing it is, to finally not feel beholden to duty. “If the Council has a problem with it, then I will not take the throne.”

Kryn looks at a point past him. Shifts her weight to her other leg. Bites her lip, then folds his fingers back over the ring. “I … can’t. I can’t be some royal consort, Matthius, I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

“I don’t want you to.”

Her brows draw together as she looks first at him, then his hand, still wrapped around the ring. “But you just asked me -”

“ _Qilitzarai_.” He tugs on her arm; she comes easily, perching on his knee. “Do you really think I’d want you to be anything less than Empress, standing at my side?” He smiles at her, just a hint of mischief in his eyes. “If you have any more protestations, could we get through them quickly? I’d been hoping you’d be overcome with emotion and say yes. Had I known you had a list of objections, I’d have brought a pillow to kneel on.”

She laughs as she throws her arms around his neck, her mouth finding his in a kiss, slow and sweet. “Yes,” she murmurs against his lips. “Yes, yes, yes. Even if you want to decline the Council’s nomination. Even if you want us to relocate to your remote cabin in the woods. Even though you don’t like _Varius and Adriana_.” She kisses him again, unhurried, almost reverent. “Because I love you, Matthius. I’m yours. I have been since Rishi, and I will be until we’re nothing but whispers in the Force.”

"Until we're whispers in the Force," he echoes, sliding the ring onto her finger. He sweeps her up into his arms and stands, grimacing as his knee protests. “I’ll have to tell Vowrawn to call a meeting. I know he and Mortis have a whole slate of _other_ meetings planned to smooth the transition; you’ll need to be there for those. And you’ll need to find a replacement for your sphere as well.” When she pouts, he chuckles. “You can’t manage a sphere and be Empress.”

Kryn holds her hands up to shield them from the worst of the rain as they cross back through the garden toward the lift. “I know. I just hadn’t thought about that. I would ask Senna, but I think she’d hate it.” Her brow creases. “I hope I don’t need an answer tomorrow.”

“We have time. Right now -”

Kryn gasps. “My sisters!” She smiles widely as he steps out into the kitchen. “You have to come meet my sisters!”

“I’ve met your sisters,” he says, overly patient. “Did you forget I stayed with them for over two weeks?”

Kryn shakes her head. “No. My sisters have met Darth Marr. They haven’t met _you_. And we have to tell them.” She can feel the objections already forming. “If you’re going to be yourself for the Empire," she says, eminently reasonable, "this is good practice.”

She’s right, of course, not that that makes this any easier. Not that he’d even agreed to her suggestions but it’s starting to look like that isn’t much of an option … though he can grudgingly admit that she’s right about the suggestions, as well. “Very well. I assume I can at least put a shirt on? I’d prefer to do this sort of thing properly.”

“If you don’t, you can probably persuade Ca’ii to join the Empire,” Kryn whispers conspiratorially, trailing a fingernail along his bare chest. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

He makes a show of checking his chrono before carrying her up the stairs. “Before I do that, however, there is some pressing business that must be taken care of.”

Confusion wrinkles Kryn’s forehead. “Oh? Did you want to get in touch with Vowrawn and Talieste first?”

“No.” He pauses in the doorway, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We haven’t celebrated killing Vitiate, we haven’t celebrated you waking up, you’re wearing my favorite blue dress, and I do believe you just agreed to marry me.” He shifts her with ease, steadying her as she wraps her legs around his waist. “When was the last time so many good things happened at one time? It would be a shame to miss this opportunity.”

Kryn smiles, leaving a constellation of kisses on his skin. “See, it’s this sort of forethought and initiative that really highlight why this is the best role for you. What a superlative suggestion.” 

[4]  
“Relax.” Kryn leans over and kisses Marr’s cheek as he parks his speeder in her garage, not hiding her amusement at how stiffly he’s sitting. “It’s just my sisters. It’ll be fine. Besides, people see you out with me when we go shopping all the time.”

He makes a noncommittal sort of noise as he gets out. “Yes, but that’s with a voice modulator and a calculated disguise. It's different. It’s been decades since … well.” He stands up straighter, scrubs a hand across his face. “It has to be done. No point in dithering.”

They leave their cloaks hanging on the hooks near the door and make their way upstairs, interrupting a rather heated card game. A quick glance around the room reveals that everyone but Ca’ii and Liinz are out, the usual outcome of such games. Raitlia never tries very hard to begin with; neither does Lysch, and the both of them heave shockingly identical sighs of relief when they’re inevitably eliminated first, not that anyone will ever point that out given the way those two butt heads. Rafana is sitting forward, her elbows braced on her knees, intently studying the game in preparation of the next round. She hates to lose, but she’s always been terrible at card games and it galls her to no end. Semiri, Scourge, and Zal are kicked back on the couch, watching the last two glare at each other over cards with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. 

“You’re cheating again, Liinz!” Ca’ii, her back to the door, throws her cards at her sister. “I know all these tricks, I use them myself! Stop -”

Liinz holds up a hand. “Throw your tantrum later. Kryn, who is _this_?” She throws Ca’ii’s cards, and her own, back at Ca’ii. “See? Join the Empire. We have much better looking men.”

To Liinz’s surprise, a huge smile wreaths Ca’ii’s face as soon as she sees who has come in. “I’m so, so glad you said that, sister. Kryn, why don’t you introduce all of us?”

Kryn, quite deliberately, brings her right hand up, the butterfly ring winking in the overhead lights, and tucks her hair behind her ear. She doesn’t miss Raitlia’s eyes widening, nor Rafana’s mouth falling open. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my intended, Matthius. However -” She holds up her hand as everyone starts talking at once. “As you know, for Sith in the Empire, your Darth name is considered a legal name, and most go by that once they’re promoted. Thus, this information must be kept between us, as Darth Marr has kept that information secret for quite some time now.”

“Wait.” Liinz holds up both hands. “ _Wait_. First things first, that is what he looks like?” Betrayal is writ large on her features. "What about all the stories? You're supposed to -"

“Pay up!” Ca’ii crows, holding out her hand and rubbing her fingers together. “Drop that credit chip right into my hot little hand.”

Marr leans down to Kryn. “What’s going on?”

She grins, kisses his cheek. “Didn’t I tell you? Liinz told Ca’ii there was no way you could be as good looking as she said, that she had to be exaggerating. Ca’ii made her a bet, Liinz took it. That’s why Ca’ii kept trying to talk you out of your armor while you were here.” 

“I can’t decide if I’m supposed to be insulted or flattered.”

Before Kryn can answer, Raitlia looses a piercing whistle. “Can we please address the fact that Kryn just told us she’s getting married and you two are over here squabbling about credits? Honestly, does anyone in this family have manners besides me?” She pushes through her sisters and comes over to Kryn. “Have to get me involved in politics no matter what, don’t you?” She throws her arms around Kryn. “Congratulations, little sister.”

“Thank you, favorite big sister.”

It’s an old game, one they picked up almost immediately after resuming contact a few years ago. “Only big sister,” Raitlia corrects. She looks over at Marr. “Nothing’s changed.”

“I didn’t expect it to,” he says, his even expression a match for hers.

“All right, all right, get out of here, Captain Serious!” Ca’ii pushes her way into the group. “Some of us are happy about this!” She grins widely when four of hers sisters chime _Maaaaajor Serious_ in unison, then pulls Kryn into an embrace. “I’m so excited. And I can come! Unlike Captain Pub over here.” Ca’ii nudges Raitlia with her elbow, doesn’t miss Raitlia’s brows drawing together. “I know you’d come if you could. Don’t punch me, please.”

Raitlia raises an eyebrow. “You say you don’t want me to punch you, but then everything else that comes out of your mouth says _Raitlia, please punch me_. Mixed messages are terrible for communication, you know.” She winks, much to Kryn and Ca’ii’s mingled shock, and heads for the kitchen. “I’ll find some champagne.”

“Hold on!” Rafana rises off the couch. “I’ll help you, I know just the thing. Don’t open anything until I get in there.” She stops a step away from Kryn and Marr, scrutinizing them both. “I feel like there’s more to this story than just _we decided to get married on a whim_. I also feel like it’s pointless to ask, so I won’t.” She cocks her head, looks up at Marr. “Bloodlines are everything, yet yours are missing. Are you just getting grafted onto ours?”

Kryn resists the urge to sigh. “Rafana, can’t you just give your congratulations and go raid my liquor cabinet?”

“You know better than that.”

“You’ll find out soon enough, anyway,” Marr says, “so I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. My records will be restored tomorrow.”

Rafana isn’t expecting this level of trust and finds herself nonplussed, at a loss for words. “I … oh. Well. And then Kryn is supposed to end up on yours, never mind that we’re all she has.”

“I’m aware you think Sith have no redeeming qualities, but I certainly do not wish subsume Kryn’s identity. The only thing Imperial records do is append my family name after hers. Her records aren’t erased, and she’s welcome to go by any legal name she has within the Empire, be it her title, her family name, or my family name.” He’s calm, but the edges of his patience are fraying in his words. “Are there any other doubts you require assuaged?”

Her chin lifts. “No, that’s all for now,” she says, haughty. She looks down at Kryn, smiles softly. “I’m glad you’re happy. And of course Vector and I will be there. I better go see what Raitlia thinks is good liquor and correct her.”

“Booze!” Ca’ii drapes an arm over Rafana’s shoulder. “I’m going to go help. But I’m also going to help plan the wedding. I already have a book of ideas.” She jerks her head toward the kitchen. “Come on, Rafana. Let’s make sure Raitlia isn’t finding the only bottle of swill in the house.”

Kryn is already shaking her head. “Ca’ii -”

“Sorry, Kryn, too far away, can’t hear a word you’re saying,” she drawls, disappearing through the kitchen doorway. 

Liinz, towering a good twenty centimeters over her older sister, lifts Kryn straight off the ground, kissing her on both cheeks before depositing her back in her spot next to Marr. She turns to glare at him, hands on her hips. “You and that pretty face cost me a lot of credits, I’ll have you know.”

“Probably not more than he spends on his ridiculously fancy shampoo,” Kryn mutters. “Don’t ask him about it, he’ll talk your ear off.”

Marr’s arch expression - his only response to Kryn’s needling - could give Rafana’s a run for its money, Liinz silently notes with no small measure of amusement. Maybe he’s been hiding an actual personality all this time. “Anyway, I’ll be sure to be in Kaas City whenever this happens, so keep me informed.”

Kryn and Marr exchange a look; Marr shakes his head and Kryn smirks. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll hear about it.”

Zal’shana, behind Liinz, studies the pair for a moment when Liinz trots off into the kitchen after the others. “You two are so happy,” she says softly. “I’m glad. Kryn deserves it.” A faint smile curves her lips. “Not to say you don’t, of course,” she says, resting a hand on Marr’s forearm for a brief moment. “But you know what I mean.” Her face falls. “I probably won’t be able to be there, but you’ll send me a holovid, right?”

“Well, obviously.” Kryn takes both of Zal’shana’s hands in her own. Sixth of the Sartoris women, Zal’shana has always been the soft-spoken one in the roomful of shouters, the one who can patch up hurt feelings, mend fences, keep the fights to a minimum on Life Day. Kryn makes a silent note to make more of an effort to stay in touch. “I’m sure Ca’ii would smuggle you in if you decide you want to come.”

Zal’shana laughs. “I’m sure she would! I’ll think about it, all right? I just … don’t want you to get in trouble, either.” She hugs Kryn one more time, then steps back. “I’m going to go help bring drinks out.”

Semiri slips around Lysch. “You know she’s just going to talk work,” she stage-whispers, pointing at the scowling Pureblood. “So I’m cutting in line.” Semiri rests her hands on Kryn’s shoulders, looking down at her sister. “I have to say, I’m surprised. I didn’t figure you for the marriage type, Kryn.”

“What can I say?" Kryn gazes at Marr for a long moment. "He’s very persuasive.”

Semiri holds up her hands and shakes her head. “I don’t even want to know.”

“So …” Kryn leans around Semiri and directs a very pointed look at Scourge. “Are you next? Tell me you’re next.”

Semiri fiddles with the end of her braid. “I … it hasn’t come up.” She shrugs, not particularly overjoyed with the turn the conversation has taken. “I mean, I can’t go back to the Jedi, I’m not going to the Academy here, not to mention I’m pretty sure you people say he’s a traitor so we can’t stay here anyway.” 

“Let’s say you didn’t have to go to the Academy, and no one kills your Sith on sight. What then?”

How Kryn manages to stare her down with such fervor, Semiri will never know. “Well, I don’t know, Kryn. _That_ isn’t the situation, is it?”

Kryn looks at Marr, who shrugs. “The matter of his legal status is up to the Wrath.”

“Oh, for - I think you can make an executive decision, don’t you?” Kryn asks witheringly, ignoring Semiri’s confusion.

“It’s been less than a day. I don’t necessarily need to start pronouncements even before Vowrawn’s spiel tomorrow.” He folds his arms. “Add it to the undoubtedly long list of things we’ll be discussing.”

“Good.” Kryn hugs Semiri. “I’ll take care of it. What’s the fun of being in charge if you can’t make sweeping decisions?”

Semiri realizes Kryn is dragging out the hug when Lysch clears her throat. “Oh no, I am not getting in between this,” Semiri says, sidestepping out of Kryn’s hold. “You’re on your own, sister.”

“Something is going on,” Lysch observes. “I assume you are going to tell me.”

Kryn hopes she’s not imagining the slightest bit of softness in Lysch’s voice, even as she gives her too-straitlaced sister her best snarky smile. “Not up to me.”

Lysch’s mouth thins as she visibly tries to rein in her temper. “Darth Marr?”

He leans past her, looks into the kitchen where it looks like there’s more talking being done than anything else. “The Council has asked me to fill Vitiate’s seat.”

“So you’re going to be … and thus she is going to be ….” Lysch pinches the bridge of her nose, heaves a long sigh. “I am only surprised you kept this to yourself, sister.”

Kryn brushes this off. “Politics. You know how Raitlia is.”

“Sometimes, I think you like making my life difficult, Kryn’la.” As Lysch is the final failsafe against the Empire becoming unstable, she maintains a record of Sith relationships that could potentially cause problems. This includes Kryn and Marr, though Lysch has kept that information to herself. After the catastrophe that was Darth Tysel and Darth Zyna’s marriage, with damage to no less than a third of the spheres of the Empire, intra-Council relations have been frowned upon … not that Kryn has ever cared for rules, but Lysch does, even where her sister is concerned.

Kryn presses a hand to her chest, looking thoroughly melodramatic. “Me? I’m making it _easier_. After all, I’m reasonably sure the empress can do whatever she likes.” She holds the pose, watching Lysch’s expression grow exponentially more unhappy and mentally counting back from three, though she only gets to two before she hears a very displeased sigh from next to her. “Honestly, you two are so easy to bait that it’s almost not fun. I promise, I won’t do anything to shame the Empire.”

“I offer you my tentative congratulations.” Lysch inclines her head first at Kryn, then at Marr. "But I will be watching."

Kryn holds out her arms, shakes her hands. “Ah-ah. Where’s my hug?”

Lysch is sure she’s rolling her eyes hard enough to sprain something, not that that stops her from hugging her absolutely irrepressible older sister. She steps back when everyone comes piling out of the kitchen bearing glasses of something gorgeous and golden and bubbly.

Once everyone has a glass, Kryn holds up her hand for silence. “We do have to go after this, but … I’m glad you all were here. I’d hate to only be able to tell you by holo.” 

“It’s good timing,” Raitlia says. “We were just talking about when we’ll have to go back, and it looks like it’s going to be tomorrow.”

Kryn shakes her head. “Can you stay one more day? Something exciting is happening tomorrow, and then we can celebrate for real, with food and more people, tomorrow night.” She pokes out her bottom lip, even though that never works on Raitlia - never has, never will.

“Oh … very well,” Raitlia huffs. “You’re really milking all of this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

Kryn grins widely and holds up her glass. “You know me. Just comes naturally. So, a toast!” She waits for everyone to raise their glasses. “To all of us being together and not fighting, getting rid of Vitiate -”

“You only saying no _one_ time when I asked you to marry me, rather than yanking my chain a few more times for good measure like you usually do,” Marr interjects from behind her. “That deserves a mention.”

Everyone else bursts into laughter as Kryn tilts her head up and gives him a distinctly wounded look. “You're supposed to be on my side!”

“I was informed last night that alliances are tenuous things in the family,” he says, his expression blandly innocent. “Have I been led astray?”

Ca’ii and Liinz are leaning on each other, wheezing, as Raitlia fights to bury her own smile. “I must admit, it’s gratifying to watch someone make Kryn make that face.”

“We do need to append _to Kryn and Matthius_ onto the end of the toast,” Zal’shana says. “That’s sort of important. Does anyone else have any momentous news to add, while we’re here? No?” Ten glasses clink together, and she eyes Kryn. “I’m sure you two have plans, but we’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

Kryn nods. “Absolutely. I’ll call a few people, and we’ll have a party tomorrow night before you have to leave.” She finishes her champagne - something fruity she’d bought on Alderaan, and she hopes she’d remembered to buy two bottles or she needs to get some more - then holds her hand out, motioning at Marr’s empty glass. “Let me take these in the kitchen and we can go. We’ve still got those calls to make.”

[5]  
The following afternoon, the Council find themselves in the topmost office of the Citadel for the second day in a row, the cloudy day a muted backdrop behind them. This time, however, they are joined by their newest Councilor, Darth Adamas - currently scrolling through a datapad full of information meant to bring her up to speed with the proceedings - and their new emperor, seated at the head of the table.

Marr clears his throat and waits for silence, which to his surprise is almost instantaneous. “Darth Tenere, how is the record restoration proceeding?”

“Done.” Lana opens her mouth, pauses. Raises an eyebrow. Normally she wouldn’t append a title, but with Marr now technically her senior, she isn’t going to breach decorum if she can help it. “Do we have protocols of address established?”

Marr waves this off. “Not as yet. There was no issue with the data?”

“No.” She shrugs. “It’s not as though there was much information to restore. You were an only child and only excised your attachment on your family tree. The transition back to a full record was seamless.”

“Excellent. Next item of business.” He swivels his chair, looks at Vowrawn. “ Though I expected this next decision to take more time,” he says without preamble, never willing to waste meeting time when not necessary, “I perused your datapad of candidates last night.”

Mortis makes a few notes, then looks up, his expression bearing just a hint of reticence. “We took care to compile a list of people from suitably prominent families who would all, we’re sure, be more than willing to -”

“Not necessary,” Marr says, holding up a hand. “I have already selected someone. She will not be a consort; she will be Empress and rule at my side.”

Mortis can’t help his look of surprise, though he isn’t surprised to hear murmuring throughout the meeting room. Though he’d never say so, an empress complicates things, branches the line of authority. And what happens when the rulers disagree? Some stories of Sith disagreement have passed into legend. But it’s not his choice, and he’s certainly not going to countermand Marr. “In that case, I’ll have to change the wording on some of the documents. I assume she’s titled, yes? I’ll need her name so the necessary paperwork can be written - we’re venturing to entirely new territory as far as this goes - and her family lineage pulled from the archives. Who is she?”

Marr waits until the murmurs die down. “Her name is Kryn’la Sartoris. Her title is Darth Nox, and she’s the head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge.” The Council chamber falls utterly silent as everyone but Vowrawn - and Bryasere, he notes with some interest - regards first him and then Nox with varying expressions of disbelief.

“Did you say Nox?” Mortis asks, sure he heard wrong. “ _Nox_. The councilor you’ve argued with for three years. That Nox, right there?” He points to where Kryn is sitting apparently impassive and unmoved, the epitome of professionalism. “Her?” 

Marr nods. “The same.” 

Kryn, unable to remain stoic, attempts to hide her smirk behind her caf cup and fails miserably. _I think you broke Mortis_.

 _Our meeting should prove to be quite interesting_.

Vowrawn, the first to speak after Mortis, can’t help himself. “Just political associates, right, my friend?” He doesn’t even try to keep the humor out of his voice. He damn well knows better, is actually disappointed with himself that he didn’t see this outcome coming. He’d honestly been sure Marr would either select someone from the list - he does have that unshakable sense of duty that so often renders him a stick in the mud - or devise his own solution that would allow him to remain alone and anonymous forever.

“Of course, Vowrawn,” Marr says placidly, unwilling to rise to Vowrawn’s bait. “Just like I’ve been telling you all along.”

“That does make some things easier. Sort of.” Mortis skims through his datapad, debates the wisdom of saying what he feels needs to be said. “Just an observation to consider: a Miraluka empress has the possibility to cause … murmurings, as it were. Not from us, of course. We all know Nox. But she may be seen as a weakness by others.”

Marr folds his arms, the epitome of disapproval. “I care not for the opinions of fools and cowards, and if they seek to harm the Empire over this, they will find just how wrong their belief that Nox is a weakness really is.”

“As you say.” Mortis makes another note. “If no one else has any business, we can adjourn this meeting. Marr, I would speak with you and Nox after the announcement if you both have time.”

Marr nods. “I will wait at the Citadel while the announcement is made.”

“My afternoon is free,” Kryn adds.

Mortis pockets his datapad, stands. “I will see the two of you in my office following the conclusion of the announcement.”

[6]  
Kryn can’t get over how strange it is to be assembled in front of the Spires without Marr. She keeps looking for him, keeps having to remind herself that he’s not coming. That this will be one of the last for her, as well. She isn’t sure she likes it, honestly. She’d had plans for her sphere, and now she’d have to watch someone else carry them out, if they choose to pursue those plans at all.

Vowrawn checks his chrono, motions at the apprentice waiting near the transmitter, then waves over the rest of the Council. “Time to shake up the Empire again!” he says. “As much excitement as these announcements tend to cause, we ought to start charging admission.” 

Everyone assembles on the dais, and it grows quiet; finally, Atroxa, brusque as always, directs a pointed look at Vowrawn. “Are we waiting on something?”

Vowrawn has to smother a laugh behind his hand. “I was waiting for Marr to start things. Old habits die hard, I suppose.” He nods at the apprentice, who taps a button on the transmitter and points back at Vowrawn. The crowd gathered on the steps around the Spires quickly falls into silence.

“As most of you know by now, Vitiate - our former Emperor, mass murderer of our people, potential scourge of the galaxy - was destroyed by a strike force of Imperials unwilling to allow his evil to run rampant. Among that number were two of our own Council, Darth Marr and Darth Nox. It is them we have to thank for freeing us from the shadow of Vitiate’s rule, for lifting the miasma we did not even know rested upon the Empire.”

A murmur runs through the crowd at this, accompanied by more than a few looks of startled realization.

“We are now free to pursue our strategy of outreach and diplomacy without the shadow of decimation hanging over our heads,” Vowrawn continues, “free to see what we may become now that we are no longer under the influence of a madman. The limit on our potential has been removed, and it is our duty to explore that potential to its fullest.”

Marr, making notes on a sheet of flimsy, nods. It’s a good speech. He wonders if Vowrawn planned it or if he’s speaking strictly off the cuff.

Vowrawn indicates the others standing with him. “While the Council will continue to lead and guide the Empire as we have always done, we are still an empire and there is no greater seat of authority than that of the Emperor. This seat is Darth Marr’s by right, his claim solidified by our oldest traditions; he sits now in meditation, preparing to speak to you in a week’s time, and has our full support and backing, just as we are sure he will have yours.

“Carry on in unity and strength, always pulling in the same direction, guiding the Empire to greatness.” 

He signals the apprentice; the transmission ends.


	56. Procedure and Process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bureaucracy is never-changing, no matter who sits at the top.

[1]  
The first thing Kryn notices as she strides onto the Citadel concourse is the small crowd around Barash’s stand. Her curiosity immediately piqued, she turns from her original path and makes her way toward the milling people, slipping around them when she realizes that most already have cups in hand; they’re not there to order, they’re just discussing Vowrawn’s announcement. 

“My usual order, Barash,” she says, leaning on the countertop, pleased to note that much of the conversation now behind her appears to be positive. “I’m bound for a particularly long and likely grueling meeting.”

Barash reaches for a cup, then pauses. “Both, my lord, or …?”

“Yes.” She can tell he desperately wants to ask _something_ and is impressed when he doesn’t, instead starting her drink before turning to pour a large cup of Kaas Reserve. “Did you and Bryasere celebrate her promotion?”

Barash puts a lid on the Reserve and sets it in front of Kryn. “Not yet; we’re waiting until this Felday. The day before that, we have dinner with her parents for the first time, so ... that will be interesting.” 

“I see.” Kryn nods solemnly. “Save the nice dinner out in case that one goes poorly?”

Barash chuckles, rueful. “Exactly.” He finishes her latte and sets it next to the other cup. “There you are, my lord. Should I wish you good luck with your meeting?”

“Yes, please!” She takes the cups with a bright smile. “Thanks, Barash.”

Her front office is busier than usual, with a number of personnel and artifacts just back from a remote dig. She stops at each table they pass, examining datapads and tablet fragments, anything her people show her, and it’s ten minutes before her office door finally closes behind her. 

“They got in last night,” she explains to Marr, already seated at a side table waiting for her. “Quite a bit of what they found has promise.” She hands him his cup, settles into the chair next to him. “I’m going to hang onto my sphere as long as I can, you know. In the name of proper turnover.”

Marr slips his mask off, takes a drink of his caf. “This would have been much easier if Vowrawn hadn’t decided to announce I was sitting in seclusion. Instead I’m forced to skulk around like a wayward apprentice.” The back side of the Citadel is a warren of hidden passageways; in the early days after construction of the massive edifice, they were more often than not used for assassination attempts, but as the Empire stabilized, they were utilized less and less often, eventually falling into general disuse. After Vowrawn’s proclamation, Marr had slipped through one such obscured doorway to make his way down to Kryn’s office, and they’ll access Mortis’ office through the same labyrinthine network. 

“I don’t plan on sitting around the house once this speech is given.” He slides his datapad back in front of him. “What are your thoughts on having offices here? We ought to be more involved than Vitiate was, while ensuring we’re not overriding the rule of the Council.”

Kryn reaches for her own datapad and makes a note. “I like it, actually. So you have a week. Any word from Talieste?”

“Ah. Yes, that was another thing I wanted to show you.” He taps a button on his gauntlet.

A hologram of the armorer appears, arms folded. Kryn has seen some impressive scowling in her time from a wide cross-section of Imperials, but Talieste is giving some of Marr’s best glowers a run for their credits. “A week! You want an all new set of armor, to the same specifications but with design differences, in a _week_? My family has been making your armor for forty years, my lord, so forgive my impertinence when I tell you you are out of your fucking mind thinking I can get this done that fast and not compromise quality. I appreciate your high opinion of me, but either find a realistic timetable or make do with what you have.”

He touches another button and the hologram winks out.

Kryn laughs outright this time. “Did she send that message before or after we told everyone you’re the new emperor?”

“Before. I received a _barely_ more polite one almost immediately following the announcement, reiterating that while she congratulates me on my promotion, my timetable is still unrealistic and I am more than welcome to come discuss it with her so she can enlighten me.”

Kryn falls silent, tapping her fingernails on the top of the table, her brow furrowing as she mentally sorts through options. “Well … how about … a slightly more dramatic reveal?”

“Dramatic?” Marr makes no effort to keep the skepticism off his face. “Kryn, you know that I -”

Kryn waves him to silence. “I know that you aren’t really given to showmanship, but the Sith? The Empire? We dearly love a show. So you say something about your commitment to transparency and not making the same mistakes Vitiate did, and then bam!” She slaps her open palms on the table. “You fling your hood back and take the mask off and let everyone revel in your beautiful visage.” 

“That’s ridiculous.”

To his surprise, she doesn’t argue with him. “It is, kind of. But you’ve cultivated this mysterious image, complete with rumors about how your face has made people _commit suicide_. A dramatic reveal is right in line with all that. At least think about it?”

“I’ll think about it.” He pulls out his own datapad and makes a few notes. “I’ve also been thinking about when we’re going to announce the marriage, and if you’re amenable I’d like to do so during the speech.”

Kryn arches one brow. “Next week?”

“I would start flushing out our enemies sooner rather than later. Depending on when -” He picks up his datapad and looks at the table. “Calendar?”

She taps a button, activating a calendar on the flat surface, a small smile on her face.

“And what’s that smile for? You look as though you’re up to something.”

“Usually you'd be correct, but not this time.” She pushes against the floor, rolls her chair over until it bumps against his. “I’m just excited, that’s all. We’re going to be incredibly busy with all of this paperwork, the succession, and everything else, so there isn’t a lot of time to just sit around and just look forward to the wedding.”

Marr leans over, kisses her cheek. “I assume you’ve already spoken with Celinin? I can’t imagine you’d have anyone else dress you.”

“Of course I wouldn't.” Kryn makes another note on her datapad. “But I haven’t yet. I want to stop by her salon today; this is more of an in-person visit, I think. Especially because I’m going to need more than one dress - I assume we’re following tradition? - and because I’d like to speak with her about creating a signature look for things like speeches and appearances.” She points at the calendar. “Now, you were saying?”

He opens up the calendar to display the entire year. “I was originally thinking we should schedule the wedding for a gala week, but it may be better not to overshadow that celebration. I’ll be formally assuming the title in a week, so the date isn’t contingent upon that. The only thing it will be beholden to is whatever we have to do to keep the legalities of the transfer of power intact and whatever diplomatic necessities must be satisfied between now and then, whenever _then_ is. Now -”

Before he can continue, his holocom chirps; he puts his mask back on and taps his gauntlet. “Marr.”

“If you … and Nox,” Mortis says, still sounding slightly baffled at the words coming out of his mouth, “are available, I have everything ready.”

“We’ll be there momentarily. Vowrawn has indirectly forced me to use the back passages, however.”

Mortis nods. “My door will be unlocked.”

Kryn and Marr slip through a nondescript door at the back corner of Kryn’s office, walking single file through the narrow passageway. Kryn, in front, follows Marr’s murmured directions; in short order they come to a stop in front of a door that looks to Kryn like every other door they’ve passed, and she can’t quite scrub all the skepticism out of her voice. “You’re sure this is the right one?” 

“Unless I got severely disoriented, yes.” He touches the panel, nodding in satisfaction when the door opens, revealing Mortis’ well-appointed office. “And I didn’t.”

Mortis, seated at the large conference table instead of his desk, doesn’t look remotely surprised when the door slides open. “Good, you’re here.” He motions to the stacks of flimsy and the collection of datacards, his expression grim. “We have a lot to cover.”

[2]  
The Kaas megalopolis covers seventy percent of the continent of Kosqam, and the cliffs on the northern end of the continent provide a natural wall for the Citadel. The wing for the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy is on the back side of the Citadel, and Darth Otium’s office, with its wide windows, looks out on the turbulence of Yaikish Wâshleq, the ocean that borders the majority of Kosqam.

As Kryn and Marr draw closer to her office, Kryn stops and cocks her head. “Are my ears playing a trick on me, or can you hear the sea from here?”

“There are docks below us, carved out of the cliffside, and they amplify the sound. We’re also closer to the cliff’s face than we would be anywhere else in these passages, given the location of Otium’s offices.” Marr touches her shoulder, indicates the door to their left. “We’re here.”

“If this meeting is as contentious as the last,” Kryn mutters before she slaps the door panel, “I’m not biting my tongue this time.”

Mortis had been more acerbic than usual, spending the majority of the hour they were in his office detailing his numerous objections to the marriage, most of them variations on a theme of _angry traditionalists_ and _improper comportment of Councilors_ and _change must be more incremental_ as they signed document after document. Kryn’s anger had been palpable even through the muted bond, made manifest through her rigid posture and tightly folded hands.

He chuckles. “I’m impressed that meeting concluded without incident, truth be told.”

“You don’t think it was a test?” Kryn whirls on him, arms folded, mouth twisted in a scowl. “You don’t think if I’d said half of what I was thinking, that wouldn’t have eroded support from one of the spheres we _most_ need support from? I thought you were a strategist.” 

There’s no point in denying it hadn’t occurred to him; her sourly satisfied nod says she knows. “We may not always agree, but in the end he knows his duty. He wouldn’t withdraw his support.”

“No, he’ll just make it harder to obtain. And what happens when he believes his duty is opposing changes he doesn’t agree with?” She presses her palms together and inhales slowly, fighting for calm. “This was just the first meeting. Maybe he got it all out of his system. We’ll see. At least I know Otium won’t spend the whole time haranguing me.” She pivots for the door and arches an eyebrow when he stops her, though she still stretches her fingers toward the panel. “Have we not covered everything? We do have more to accomplish today.”

“Kryn.” He wraps an arm around her and lifts her away from the door, then pulls his mask off, sliding a finger under her chin to tilt her head up. “We’ll handle it. Mortis’ recalcitrance, the traditionalists, all of it. Do you have so little faith in my ability to keep the Council in line? Do I not have enough experience under my belt yet?” A smirk startlingly like her own pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Might I remind you about _your_ tenure on the Council?”

Kryn sets a hand on her cocked hip and gives him a look that would have withered lesser beings. “When did you _ever_ keep me in line?”

“Poor example.” He leans closer. “But you must admit, before you came along my record was impeccable.” 

She draws a breath - undoubtedly to unleash yet another scathing rejoinder - and his gaze drops to her lips. His mouth finds hers, and neither of them hear the door whisper open behind them, then almost as quickly whisper closed. Kryn takes a reluctant step backward and nods in the direction of the door. “We should probably, ah -” She takes another step. “We should probably get to this meeting.”

“To be continued?” He brushes the back of one finger along her jaw.

Kryn tries to look annoyed and fails miserably. “Just … you -” She pointedly lifts his mask toward his face. “You don’t have to ask and you _know_ it. Thank you for the motivation to get through this quickly. Come on.”

Otium, Vowrawn, and Bryasere all stand as they step through the door, though Otium is rather intently focused on the datapad in her hand, and Vowrawn taps his chrono. “You know, some of us would like to get home in a timely manner, Marr,” he says lightly. “Just because you get to sit around resting on your laurels these days -”

“I’d have arrived sooner if I could have taken the normal route,” Marr replies, unfazed, “which I could have done if _someone_ hadn’t told the entire Empire I was in seclusion and thus must avoid being seen.”

As Vowrawn replies, Darth Otium ignores both men and smiles at Kryn. “While they bicker, Nox, we can get the work done.” She and Kryn settle into two chairs at the end of the table. “There are a number of diplomatic issues I’d like to address, though not all of them need to be solved now. Some of this will by necessity concern Adamas, given that maintaining our internal security is her bailiwick.” 

Bryasere, datapad already in hand, sits next to Otium, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “Congratulations, my lord. I’m glad I don’t have to pretend I don’t know about the two of you anymore.”

“And to you, Bryasere,” Kryn says, grinning. “I hope your dinner with your parents goes well.”

A faint flush blooms in Bryasere’s cheeks. “I, ah … thank you, my lord.”

“First order of business,” Otium says, consulting a list. “Manner of address. Right now we’re all on equal footing, but obviously after next week that’s going to change. It’s highly likely that most of the Empire will default to _my lord_ as is tradition; however, Vitiate never made appearances, and thus there is no precedent for this. Suggestions?”

Kryn folds her hands, prim and proper, and sets them on the table. “I have _always_ wanted to be addressed as ‘Your Majesty.’ I am quite majestic.”

“What you are is majestically short,” Marr drawls, not looking over from his argument with Vowrawn. “I’m not sure that counts.”

Bryasere not-so-subtly shakes her head at her former boss as a hint of ozone fills the air. Otium’s expression is comically shocked as she looks from Kryn to Marr. Vowrawn coughs, poorly disguising his laugh, when Kryn lifts her chin. “As I recall,” she says, sweet as can be, “succession is determined by a rite of strength, yes? So all I need do is take down one elderly Sith and I rule alone?”

“That is indeed the case, but then how would you get your favorite cookies off the top shelf in the kitchen?”

Kryn getting snotty with Marr is one thing - a fact of Council life at this point - but Marr giving it right back is entirely unexpected. Finally, Kryn dismisses him with a flick of her wrist. “Ass.” She turns back to Otium. “Joking aside, I would say ‘majesty’ for formal events and audiences, but ‘my lord’ won’t be considered disrespectful. That should strike the right balance, I think.”

“Very well.” Otium, still silently thanking her diplomatic training for enabling her to maintain a mostly neutral expression through all of this, makes a note. She turns her chair a bit to include the two men, who have abandoned their discussion and joined everyone else. “Next, and slightly more pressing due to the time needed for completion, you require an official residence. This will be the location for many of the social diplomatic functions, audiences, things of that nature. A visible representation of your authority.” 

She turns to Vowrawn. “Obviously, much of this will fall to your sphere. An architect must be decided upon, the credits found, and the work allocated. While we _could_ have the wedding prior to completion, I would suggest waiting until it’s finished, which means we need to get this project started sooner rather than later. I would also suggest pulling in as many of the newer companies as you can, to eliminate the perception that the Empire still only cares about the work of non-aliens.”

In the wake of the dissolution of slavery within the Empire, a large number of new business ventures had formed, headed by former slaves who had honed their craft and ability while serving Sith and wealthy Imperials. They had provided a much-needed infusion of credits into the Imperial economy, and while there are those who still proclaim they’ll never patronize an alien-owned business, that attitude as a whole is not as prevalent as it once was.

Vowrawn, taking notes since Otium began speaking, nods. “Nox, if you and Marr can send me a list of features you deem necessary, I’ll have the proposal completed and posted within the week. We’ll need to scout a location, though I have some ideas. Done before the wedding, though? That’s going to be the iffy part, Otium. Once we know where and what we’re building, I can give you a better estimate.”

“That works. Communication, as usual, will be key.” Otium consults her list. “Next, it’s not a time-critical thing, but you’ll need to consider who you want invited to the wedding. Obviously this number will depend on where you choose to hold it, but this is an excellent opportunity for diplomatic outreach. There will be some purely symbolic invitations, of course; no one expects Drarso or Saresh to attend; all we need do is make the gesture.”

This time Kryn claps her hands together, not stifling her amusement. “Saresh! She’d sooner eat glass than visit the Empire. Though you mentioning her has reminded me of something.” She taps a frequency into her holocom and waits until Callidus appears. “Callidus! I have a project I’d like to run past you. Are you still at the Citadel?”

“A project, hmm? Yes, I’m still here. Are you in your office?”

“Otium’s. Can you meet with us? It won’t take too much of your time.” Kryn scrolls through her datapad. “It will be a joint effort between your sphere and hers.”

Callidus taps a finger on his chin. “Interesting. I’ll be there shortly.”

He disconnects, and Marr clears his throat. “What are you up to? This time I know the smile is because you’re up to something.”

“It is indeed. You’ll see when Callidus gets here.” Kryn motions to Otium. “I’m sorry, I interrupted. Ah, let’s see. Venue obviously hasn’t been decided yet, but when we do I’ll sit down with you and we’ll compile the list of diplomatic invitations. And if there are any other points in the planning that I need to work with you, please let me know so we can do this as smoothly as possible.”

Otium nods, makes a note. “Thank you. Were there any concerns you wished to bring to my attention?”

Kryn consults her notes. “We’d like to create a diplomatic outreach for the Imperials who will have problems with me, and thus attempt to alleviate any burgeoning issues on that front.” She pauses, casting a somewhat apologetic look at Vowrawn. “While I wish this outreach to be for all, I do believe we should concentrate our efforts on the Scarlet District first.”

A brief look of confusion flits across Bryasere’s face, but Otium nods almost immediately. “An excellent suggestion. It’s one thing to see aliens on the Council, another entirely to have one as Empress. And we’ve already had an unforgivable rash of terrorism; we can hardly afford another so soon.”

“I think singling out Qoshrajakzândor might be … unwise, Nox.” Vowrawn thinks through what he wants to say. “You have to understand that there’s a deep-seated cultural uneasiness there, and -”

“I’m aware, Vowrawn.” Kryn turns her palms up, and while there is kindness in her tone, there is very little on her face. “But the fact remains that our former emperor, the one who so despised aliens, was a Pureblood. The fact remains that the latest terror attack upon our capital city was orchestrated by Purebloods, was commanded by Purebloods. I’m not talking about rounding them up. I’m talking about conducting a program, preferably with Purebloods who _aren’t_ caught up in what my species is, talking to those who _are_. If there are Purebloods we can spare from other spheres that are willing to undertake this, that would be ideal.”

Otium has been writing the entire time Kryn has been talking. “Perhaps couple it with a fast-tracked effort to repair the Gate of Victory. Draw attention to it, earmark it as a project personally overseen by Darth Nox as an outstretched hand to bridge the gap between their insular culture and that of the Empire as whole. After all, the Gate of Victory is the main entrance to Qoshrajakzândor; there’s symbolism there we can turn to our advantage.”

“It won’t be welcomed,” Vowrawn says, shaking his head. “Anyone but our people being involved with that will be considered anathema. You don’t understand. In some circles, even _Marr_ won’t be considered acceptable.”

“Then those circles are free to leave.” Kryn’s words are clipped, her jaw tight. “If we’re _so_ bad, they can run to the damned Republic. Or the Hutts. The simple fact of the matter is that they refuse to accept that they are not the entirety of the Empire, not the entirety of the Sith, and if there isn’t the slightest modicum of compromise on their part then they have brought the consequences on their own heads.”

Vowrawn is more out of sorts than Marr has ever seen him. “My friend, tell me you understand the point I’m trying to make here.”

“I do, Vowrawn, and we will certainly discuss this more at length before any plan is implemented.” He hasn’t spent forty years on the Council by being unobservant, and while he agrees that outreach is necessary, he also knows a delicate touch will be required, at least at the outset. “But Nox is right. The attack on Kaas City was only four weeks ago. Those we captured still languish in the Citadel cells. Ground must be given on both sides, and if they cannot?” Marr shakes his head. “I have no wish to remind them of the traditions if a member of a house commits treason, but I will if they force my hand.”

A tense silence envelops the room, broken only when Callidus steps through the door. His greeting is only half given before he cuts it off, looking around the table. “Did I come at a bad time?”

Kryn draws a deep breath and shakes her head. “No. I’m glad you’re here; I want to talk to you about Taris. Please, sit.” She waits until he does, ignoring the questioning look she can feel Marr giving her. “I want to rub Taris in Saresh’s face, Callidus. I want to turn it into a wildlife preserve.”

“A … a what?” Callidus is the first to break the stillness, unable to hide his naked shock. “You want to make that disaster into a wildlife preserve. Kr- Darth Nox, have you taken leave of your senses?”

She smiles widely. “I have not. I know that the Science Bureau can come up with a way to fix the damage we’ve caused. It has enough varied terrain and weather that we can transplant all manner of animals there. Areas with rakghouls can be contained. And then we open it to the galaxy at large. The Empire receives funding from admission, the Republic won’t dare _not_ attend the opening, we’ve created diplomacy through animals, and Saresh watches us do what she could not, which will hopefully make her head explode.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room is a deep, rumbling chuckle; Otium and Callidus exchange a bemused look when they realize it’s Marr _laughing_. “ _Qilitzarai_ , leave it to you to foster diplomacy through yanking someone’s chain,” he finally says, wrestling his amusement under control. “I wholeheartedly support this idea.”

Callidus examines his datapad. “There are a few projects I could put on hold that have the requisite talent needed for an undertaking of this magnitude. I’ll speak with Nomas, as well. What sort of timeframe are we looking at?”

“I’d like to have it done by the wedding, if possible? If not, shortly thereafter. The issue that remains is when that’s going to be. I’ll have to get back with you on that, Callidus. If you can get me a minimum estimate sometime in the next day or two, that would be excellent.” Kryn leans on the table, searching out Marr. “Once we have that, and the timeframe for the residence, we can decide.”

“Agreed.”

Kryn drums her fingertips on the top of the table. “What am I forgetting … Adamas, I assume you’re already working on a plan in case certain factions get obnoxious about things like the circumstances of my birth.”

“Yes, my lord. When will the Empire as a whole find out?”

Marr clears his throat. “In one week’s time. I intend to announce the engagement in my inaugural speech.”

“Very well.” Bryasere doesn’t even seem surprised. “I already had the beginnings of a plan in place for this. I’ll coordinate with Tenere, ensure we have extra security around likely targets, contact the Wrath. It will be handled, my lords.” Only Marr notices her cheek twitch. “Majesties? Excellencies?”

Kryn grins; Marr sighs. “A single day on your own, Adamas, and you’re already running rampant.”

“My lord, you would be immensely displeased if I did anything less, would you not?”

 _She has you there_. 

Kryn sounds too far too pleased, and Marr scowls at her, knowing she can feel it even if she can’t see it. “You are correct, Darth Adamas,” he finally says, quite dry. “Timidity isn’t a quality we look for in our leaders. Is there any further business that must be handled before we depart?” He checks his chrono. “I’m sure everyone would like to get home.” When everyone shakes their heads, he nods in satisfaction, then stands. “Excellent. Darth Nox, if you have nothing else pressing at the Citadel …?”

Kryn shakes her head. “I don’t.”

“As I’m currently in _seclusion_ ,” he says, looking at Vowrawn, who gives his friend an unrepentant shrug, “if you can get the speeder, I’ll make my way down to the parking garage. I believe the passages let out on the lowest level.”

A smirk pulls at the corner of Kryn’s mouth. “Don’t get lost.”

He disappears through the door in the back of Otium’s office, and Kryn stands, then pockets her datapad. “I’ll see everyone tomorrow. Vowrawn, if you have time in the next few days, I’d like to get together and talk?”

“Of course, my dear.” He smiles warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m sure I’ll run into you at the caf stand. We’ll check our schedules then.” 

He turns to talk with Callidus, and Otium falls into step with Kryn as she makes her way toward the main door. “Darth Nox, may I ask a somewhat … impertinent question?”

“My favorite kind!” The aliens of the Council formed an informal support group and have become close in the nearly six months since their appointments, and Kryn is almost surprised at the Nautolan’s reticence. “Surely you know by now that there is very little you can ask that will bother me. I’ve been told I’m entirely too open about things I should not be open about.”

Otium wrestles with how to phrase it. “Darth Marr seems … that is, he’s ….” Her eyes are wide as she shakes her head. “He was _joking_ with you, Nox. I didn’t think he did things like that.”

“He doesn’t. Well, not usually. He keeps his personal life and work life quite separate because he is a very staid man who is very set in his ways.” Kryn’s smirk softens. “But I think not having to stay carefully professional - after more than a year of doing so - has made him relax a little.”

Otium thinks this over. “That’s good, though, in my opinion. So I’m sure we’ll be talking quite a bit in the next few months. I’ll start working on a proposal for that initiative you mentioned; we’ll have to tread delicately.” The barest hint of a scowl pulls at her mouth as she leans close to Kryn’s ear. “Lest we hurt feelings with facts. You know how touchy they can be, Kryn.”

“We’re used to it, Casra. We’ve worked around that since the beginning of the Empire.” Kryn smiles, tight and strained, anger an undercurrent in her voice. “And if they won’t listen to reason, there are other methods. Their methods, though I’d prefer things not reach that point.” She straightens, puts on a professionally pleasant expression. “I better get a move on. Message me anytime you need anything.”

[3]  
Kryn gives Marr a curious look as the speeder comes to a stop behind Laigoss Defense, waiting to speak until it’s clear he’s not going to respond without her saying something. “You’re really going to let her let you have it in person?”

“If I’m wrong and have misjudged her? Yes.” Marr waits for Kryn before opening the door, waving her in first. “However, I don’t think I have.”

Elsewhere in the building, a chime sounds, and Talieste appears on the staircase. “Good, you’re here. I need approval on this design, and I have questions for you.”

Without waiting to see if they’re following, she turns and heads back toward her studio. Kryn arches a brow, both at the armorer’s behavior and at Marr’s smugness. “That wasn’t what I was expecting. I came along to watch you get yelled at.”

“I’m sure it will happen another day, _qilitzarai_.” They make their way up the stairs and find Talieste at her drawing board, next to a stack of armor samples. “What do you have for me, Laigoss?”

Still sketching, she holds up a finger. “Don’t think we’re not exchanging words about this last-minute nonsense you’re pulling, Darth Marr. Just because I’m doing my duty as an Imperial this time doesn’t give you free reign to simply ignore my workflow and the time needed to practice my craft.” She sweeps two sheets of flimsy off the drawing board and crosses to them, though to Marr’s surprise she hands the first piece to Kryn. “My lord, while I’m aware that you often choose attire more fashion-minded, if you have someone who can create a skirt to match this set, the two of you will present a unified picture with the requisite amount of implied strength and power.”

“Oh!” Kryn takes the flimsy, looking over the design. The chestpiece is high-necked and solid black, with an overlay in silver worked into a stark and stylized storm design. The pauldrons are bursting lightning strikes, exploding outward from the shoulders. The elbow-length gauntlets continue the motif, silver lightning shooting from fingers to elbow. “This is beautiful! Can you send me a copy? Celinin can certainly design something that will work with this. But how -”

Talieste jabs a thumb in Marr’s direction. “He mentioned it. Glad to see he has some sense and chose someone who will keep him in line. Next time he talks about dumping a whole project on me with a ridiculously short deadline, I hope you zap some sense into him.” Before Marr can even open his mouth to defend himself, she rounds on him, shaking the second piece of flimsy at him. “Here. Approve this design so I can pull four of my apprentices off their current projects and get this done in time.”

“I didn’t -”

“I need to cannibalize either your warsuit or your everyday,” she continues, ignoring him, “so decide which one you’re wearing for this announcement and get me the one I’m pulling the working parts out of. If I have a choice, I’d say the everyday, and keep the warsuit if you end up needing it. We’re dropping the spikes; they’re good for a field of battle, not good for presenting a regal appearance.”

Kryn, smirking, opens her mouth; Marr holds up a hand. “Don’t.”

“Aww.”

“Last question,” Talieste says, ignoring this as well. “I assume you want a mask, yes?”

He wasn’t planning on deciding this quite so soon, but it looks like he doesn't have a choice; Talieste is already on the warpath and he has no wish to push her further by dithering. “The one for the speech just needs to be a replica.”

“Replica’s going to be useless. And uncomfortable.”

“I’m aware. However, in the interest of transparency, I have decided to eschew the mask, beginning with the speech.”

For the first time since they arrived, Talieste’s expression shifts from annoyance to surprise. “You’re … what?” She shakes her head, mind back on the task at hand. “Very well. I’ll make a note. Your final verdict on the armor?”

Marr inspects the flimsy. True to his request, it maintains much of the silhouette of what he’s wearing now, with the only major changes being the elimination of the spikes and the alteration of the color scheme. It’s done in the same black and silver as Kryn’s, with red accents in key locations.

He has to admit, it _does_ look regal. 

Kryn shifts beside him, trying to get a better look, and he tilts the flimsy toward her. She gives Marr a long, appraising once-over. “You’ll look _really_ good in this. I only have one alteration.”

“No capes, Nox.”

“Damn.”

Marr hands it back to Talieste. “Fitting?”

“Two days prior. Darth Nox, I should have yours done in two days’ time. You may come for a fitting anytime this Kalday. If I finish it sooner, I’ll contact you.” She plucks the sheets of flimsy out of their hands, fixes both of them with a hard stare. “If there’s nothing further, you may see yourselves out. I have work to do.”

Downstairs, Kryn sends a quick message and the copy of the armor sketch to Celinin, then checks her chrono. Everything today has taken longer than she anticipated, but a barrage of messages from her sisters has kept her abreast of party updates, and they have just enough time to go home and get dressed before the party’s supposed to start. She laces her fingers with Marr’s. “Ready for your yearly socialization?”

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.” He’s been more than happy to avoid social obligations since his ascension to the Council, no matter how hard first Vowrawn, then Kryn, tried to break him of that particular preference, but he’s accepted that that’s all about to change. Besides, if he told Kryn he wasn’t going to their engagement party, she might actually get cross, and he’s reasonably sure he doesn’t want her ire pointed at him. “Let’s go.”


	57. Conviviality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a celebration, even if the guests of honor arrive ... somewhat late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vera belongs to [fluffynexu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffynexu). Look, Marr has _two_ friends! :D (Kryn made many snarky jokes about this after she found out Vowrawn was not the only one.)

[1]  
They have a timetable to keep, one that's already been cut drastically short by overlong meetings and overcautious travel routes, and they need to get dressed and get to Kryn’s for the impromptu engagement party. They seem to be having a problem finishing the _getting dressed_ part, however. 

None of this is Kryn’s fault. She’d come downstairs for a glass of water; by the time she'd realized Marr was behind her he'd already picked her up, practically manhandling her into the living room and onto the couch. While she's normally a great fan of some manhandling, they simply don't have the time. 

“We need to go,” she murmurs, surreptitiously glancing at the chrono on her wrist as his hands tighten on her hips and his mouth finds the pulse in her neck. “We’re going to be late to our own party.”

He shifts one hand to her wrist, lifting it, then presses one slow kiss to the crook of her arm, leaves them in a trail until he reaches her chrono. “Mm-hmm.” He deftly unfastens the device and drops it behind the couch; it lands almost soundlessly on the carpet and he smiles at her, kisses her now-bare wrist. “I made you a promise.”

Before she can reply, he rolls sideways, depositing her on the couch as he kneels between her legs. “And I’d hate to break a promise made to the future Empress.”

[2]  
Kryn is languid and near-dozing, flush still a nebula on her chest, when Marr braces one hand against the couch and pushes himself to his feet, then extends that hand to Kryn. “I believe we have a party to attend?” She mumbles something unintelligible, making no effort to move, and he _tsk_ s at both her transparency and his own predictability as he levitates her into his arms. “Would you prefer to skip the party, then?”

She’s already curled up against him, her head nestled on his shoulder, and he feels it when she pokes out her lower lip. “I’d think you’d be proud you left me in a near-stupor, not threatening me with no party.”

“I am.” He carries her up the stairs and through their bedroom, setting her down next to the shower door. “But I also know how excited you are for this party and am not above using it as motivation.” He tilts her chin up, bending to kiss her. 

She melts against him with a sigh, one hand resting lightly on the bare, scarred skin of his back, until she takes a reluctant step back, then tugs on the waistband of his trousers. “Come on, get undressed. We're really going to have to hurry.”

They're in and out of the shower with record speed, moving smoothly around each other in the bedroom with the ease of long practice. Kryn pins her bright white eyecovering in place, its elegant gold clips shining in her hair, then checks her reflection, smoothing the front of her bright white jacket, scrutinizing her knee-high black boots and their gold buckles. “You know what would look just perfect with this outfit?”

“That you’re asking me, rather than just showing me?” Marr doesn’t look up, still checking the buttons on his cuffs. “Does not bode well for whatever it is you’re about to say.”

Kryn makes a thoroughly unladylike scoffing noise, turning for the closet. “That purple and gold ring from the Arcanum.” 

“The what?” She’s halfway through the security code on the safe by the time he wraps one hand around her wrist and hauls her back. “The one that told you it was a great idea to drape yourself in more unlabeled artifacts,” he says flatly. “The one that arguably did the most damage out of everything you blithely picked up and dropped onto your person.”

She pulls against his hold, making a face when she doesn’t budge. “It’s for one party! It’s not as though I’m going to wear it permanently.”

“No.”

She _hates_ that tone, and he knows it, so she’s certainly not going to give him the satisfaction of reacting to it. “Well, then _what_ am I supposed to wear with this outfit?” she asks, pointedly ignoring the sizeable jewelry box on the dresser.

Pulling her along with him, he opens the box, sifts through its sparkling contents. “Here.” He extracts a gold necklace made of varying chains and lengths. “It matches _and_ it doesn’t corrupt your mind.”

“Your utter lack of a sense of adventure is startling, given that you’re Sith,” Kryn grumbles, holding out her hand. It’s a good choice, not that wild horses could have dragged that information out of her; it will accent the rest of the gold details in her outfit and fall just about perfectly between the lapels of her jacket. She twiddles her fingers when he doesn’t give her the necklace. “Well? Give it.”

Instead of answering, he steps behind her, fastening it around her neck. “You’re quite irascible about someone looking out for you.” He turns back to the jewelry box, plucks something out of it, holds his hand out. “Here. This, too.”

One of her favorite rings, gold surrounding a black shimmering stone that reminds her of space, rests on his palm, and this time all she can do is huff in annoyance at how well he’s doing with his replacement suggestions. “And when exactly did you get so knowledgeable about jewelry, hmm?” 

“Kryn, this may come as a surprise as we’ve only been together for a year and a half now,” he says, too straight-faced, “but I do spend a fair amount of time watching you. And you spend a fair amount of time choosing accessories. It would be more surprising if I _wasn’t_ able to at this point.”

She plucks the ring out of his hand and slides it on her finger, then sticks her tongue out at him. “You’re getting awfully snotty in your dotage.”

“Again, I do spend a -” He neatly sidesteps her attempt to slap his arm, laughing. “Let me finish and we can go.” He’s just sat down at his desk with his shoes when his holocom chimes; after checking the frequency, he reaches for the button. “I better take this.”

He opens his mouth as a hologram of a Chiss woman appears, but she speaks first. “Since when does Darth Marr have lackeys answering his holocom?” She makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Go fetch him.”

“Vera, why would I have lackeys answering my personal holocom?” 

Duv’era’tonogi, Vera to pretty much everyone, full-time diplomat and hobbyist intelligence operative (“It’s not a _hobby_ ; it’s essential to my work,” Marr can already hear her saying if he’d dare impugn her perpetual nosiness in such a way), is one of the longest-serving ambassadors from the Chiss Ascendancy and one of his few longtime friends. She’s been on a rotation back into the Ascendancy for the last two years, so they haven’t had as much opportunity to talk, but he’s unsurprised she’s calling after Vowrawn’s announcement today.

She folds her arms, features twisting into an impressive scowl. “I’m sure I don’t - wait.” The scowl disappears, replaced by stark shock. “ _Marr_?” She leans closer to the transmitter, one hand cupped around her mouth. “You know you forgot part of your usual ensemble, yes?” 

Like Vowrawn, she’s pestered him for years about his mask; also like Vowrawn, she’s been utterly unsuccessful in that endeavor, to her lasting annoyance. “Did I?” he says, dry. “I hadn’t noticed. Did you call for something specific, Vera? I’m a bit pressed for time.”

The Chiss gives him a long, appraising look. “I was calling to congratulate you on your promotion - and to perhaps suggest you not endanger the whole galaxy like the last person to sit in that seat, please - but now my interest is piqued. Pressed for time _and_ you’re not dressed? You’re up to something. You may as well tell me; I’ll find out eventually, anyway.”

“Does the phrase _pressed for time_ not mean anything in the Ascendancy?” He leans over and puts on his shoes, then straightens, buffing the toe of one shoe against his trouser leg. If he demurs, she’s going to press the matter; if he tells her, she’s only going to have a barrage of questions. He makes a show of pointedly looking at his chrono. “I’m late for a small engagement party.”

“A party!” she exclaims. “ _You_ are going to a party. Did Vowrawn twist your arm again?” She taps her chin as she thinks out loud. “No, if he had you’d have said that in the beginning. And you’d be dressed properly. So you’re going to a party looking like a normal person … which you’ve _never_ done. I’d have assumed if you were going to make the seat inherited, you’d have a political match, and you certainly wouldn’t have a small, intimate party for that; it would be some dreadfully dull state affair where you sat around in your armor giving off unfriendly vibes.” Her eyes widen when another possibility occurs to her. “You and Nox? It has to be; nothing else makes sense. But ….”

“What?”

It's a bit more gruff than he'd intended, and she points a finger at him. “Don’t give me that accusatory tone. You’ve already kicked the hornets’ nest with the anti-slavery edict, and now you’re taking an _alien_ as your consort?” She clasps a hand to her chest, miming fainting. “What _will_ the perpetually touchy traditionalists say?”

“A whole load of bantha shit, if Mortis is any indication,” Kryn mutters from behind a datapad, just loud enough for her voice to carry from where she’s reclined on the bed.

Vera looks in Kryn’s general direction. “There we have it, the least surprising thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Not consort.” Marr shakes his head. “Empress.”

Vera’s smirk drops off her face. “You do understand how astonishingly imprudent that is? You can’t just wave a hand and make them accept that.”

“And here all my life, I’ve been laboring under the impression that the Emperor can do precisely what he wants, up to and including destroying Imperial worlds, and still not lose supporters,” Marr snaps. “Perhaps I hallucinated that series of events.”

Vera folds her arms, her jaw growing tight. “Don’t talk to me as though I have a problem with it; you damn well know that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying, and I’m sure you’re aware of this but I will reiterate it for you anyway, is that putting Nox on the throne is going to do far more than just poke at their cultural terror of aliens. You _know_ it will.” Her mouth thins. “They all remember how they’ve treated aliens. You don’t think they live in perpetual fear of a not entirely undeserved uprising?”

Marr sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Vera, I’m aware. These are the sorts of things that will be addressed. I would, in fact, greatly enjoy having this discussion _later_. When I am not already late for another commitment.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Her expression brightens. “Doom, gloom, and horrendous Imperial politics aside, congratulations to both of you. I get an invitation, yes?”

“Of course!” Kryn calls before Marr can answer. She rolls off the bed and saunters over to the desk, leaning over Marr’s shoulder. “We can’t leave half his friends out. And the other fifty percent are required to attend due to political obligations, so that doesn’t count.” She dissolves into laughter as Marr closes his eyes and inhales slowly, then exhales just as slowly.

Vera makes no effort to hide her smirk. “Oh, good! I’ll inform you when I’m due back in the capital, Darth Nox; we simply must get lunch.”

“Absolutely!”

If Marr doesn’t intervene now, they’ll talk for another hour. “If there’s nothing else?”

“Go on, get out of here. Go to your one party for the year.” Vera touches a button on her end, and her hologram disappears.

Marr stands. “Shall we?”

[3]  
Kryn’s main room is full of light and sound and people, and Kryn sits forward, peering through the wide transparisteel windows as they pass. “Oh! I think Lysch finally brought her mysterious paramour!” 

“Kryn.” Marr guides the speeder into the garage and cuts the engine. “Wasn’t this just supposed to be your sisters?”

The look she gives him could only be described as _thoroughly exasperated_. “No. It’s an engagement party while all of my sisters are here. They were all taken out into the city today to purchase appropriate Imperial clothing. They all know their cover story. This is our personal party with our friends before we have to have a formal one.”

“I see.” He touches the sensor pad next to the inner garage door; the door slides back, revealing an irate Raitlia. “Major.”

Raitlia ignores him, scowling down at her sister. “Where have you -”

“Raitlia!” Kryn reaches out and flicks a finger at her sister’s flowing, curly hair, then gives her a deliberate once-over. Instead of the usual all-business military-flavored attire Raitlia tends to favor, she’s donned a pair of curve-skimming black trousers and a flowing white sleeveless shirt with a deep v-neck. “Your hair, and your outfit! Who picked this out? I hope you’re bringing it home; I have quite a few credits that say Aric will _love_ it.”

Raitlia folds her arms, scowling harder. She did not come down here to gush about Liinz’s shopping trip today. “That is immaterial right now, Kryn’la. Where have you been? The party started nearly an hour ago! What were you _doing_?”

“The future Emperor, if you _must_ know,” Kryn says, smiling sweetly, and Marr can tell both by her tone and the sheer glee she’s carefully concealing from Raitlia that she knows exactly what reaction this is going to get from her sister. When Raitlia’s mouth tightens into a nearly-invisible line, Kryn leans forward, angling her head and tapping her jaw, infuriating smirk on her face. “Come on, you know you want to. Right here. What’s it been, twenty years since the last time you laid one on me?”

For a brief, tense moment, Kryn thinks she might have actually pushed Raitlia too far, but then her sister’s shoulders relax and she unclenches her fists. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that that’s what fell out of your mouth, Kryn.” Raitlia looks past Kryn to Marr. “Enjoy your public relations nightmare of an Empress,” she says, making no effort to conceal her smugness. “I look forward to the inevitable breathless Holonet reports.”

“She’d really have to put in effort to be more obnoxious than she was two years ago,” he says after a moment. “At this point it’s practically expected from her, though possibly not to such a _personal_ degree,” he continues, more pointed.

Kryn’s good mood isn’t remotely daunted by their seriousness. “Are we about done with the disapproval part of the evening? Can we go upstairs now? Or shall I while you two sit down here and bond over how incorrigible I am?”

Raitlia, instead of answering, pivots smartly and strides down the hallway, not waiting to see if they follow.

“Were you _trying_ to get her to swing at you?” Marr asks in not much of a whisper as they follow Raitlia up the stairs. 

Kryn chuckles. “This is the last time I’ll get to see that particularly gratifying expression in person for some time. I have to make the most of it, don’t you think?”

“You know I don’t.” 

They step through the doorway into the crowded room, and his next words are lost in a surprisingly raucous cheer that sounds like it was started by Ca’ii. Kryn starts, then laughs, silently counting how many people she can see. Eighteen; clearly some extra invitations were extended, not that she minds _too_ much. “Good thing I made sure there was extra food and booze!” 

Ca’ii is also the first one to materialize at Kryn’s side, holding two glasses of champagne as the room melts back into quiet conversation. “About time!” She hands the glasses over, then leans close to Kryn’s ear. “Lysch brought her girlfriend, Pierce brought a girl, and Vowrawn is convinced you weren’t coming? Keeps mumbling about _Sith and their idiotic obsessions_? What’s that all about?”

Someone behind Ca’ii clears their throat and she jumps, twisting around to see who it is. “Darth Vowrawn! We were just talking about you!”

“I heard,” he says, amused. The gold embroidery in his traditional fitted knee-length jacket shines as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “My dear.” He takes Kryn’s free hand. “You look positively radiant, and I ought to thank you.”

Kryn arches a brow. This is unexpected, especially after the tension at the meeting earlier today. “For?”

“If it weren’t for you, I’d likely to go my grave not knowing what Darth Marr looked like.” He shifts his gaze, suddenly sharp and appraising, to Marr. He’s tried for decades to get a peek under Marr’s mask, all to no avail. The closest he got was one single tryst in the middle of the war, brought on by too much stress and no small amount of liquor. Even then, his friend had insisted on a blindfold, leaving Vowrawn with maddeningly specific yet ultimately useless impressions and very little else. “In retrospect, and given this new information, I don’t think I pushed quite hard enough after that -”

Marr shakes his head. Vowrawn suggests a repeat rendezvous on a fairly regular basis, seemingly undeterred by the decades of negations he’s received. “No amount of pushing would have changed my mind, Vowrawn. We had an agreement. The agreement was fulfilled. That’s it.”

“Agreement?” Kryn looks from Marr to Vowrawn and back. “What’s all this about?”

Marr holds up a hand before Vowrawn can answer her. “Ancient history. I’ll tell you later.”

“We ought to at least say hello to everyone,” Kryn says, peering around Vowrawn. “Come on; it won’t take long, then you and Vowrawn can get wrapped up in whatever history this is you’re debating.” Marr nods; the three of them rejoin Andronikos, standing a short distance away. “My my, you certainly clean up nicely. Look at you!” Kryn runs a hand down the sleeve of his long leather jacket. “When did you get this?”

Andronikos rolls his eyes. “Apparently, I have to look presentable if I wish to be seen on the arm of Council members,” he grouses, though Kryn can tell his ire is not at all genuine, not least because of the soft look he directs at Vowrawn. “You never foisted such silliness on me.”

“Didn’t I? You never stopped to question all those times I _happened_ to buy you something?”

Andronikos’ mouth falls open in an exaggerated _O_ of betrayal. “Sith! Can’t trust ‘em as far as you can throw them.” 

“It’s a shame you’re just finding this out now,” Kryn chortles, slipping an arm around his waist before she kisses him on the cheek. She’d been beyond surprised when she’d run into Vowrawn and Andronikos together at Altessa, one of the swankiest clubs in the Capital District, almost a month ago. “But he has good taste. Just enjoy it.” She takes a step back. “And don’t forget, I owe you a vacation. At, you know ….” She twiddles her fingers. “At some point.”

He doesn’t even attempt to keep the skepticism off his face. Between everything Kryn has coming up and the inevitable complications that seem to follow her everywhere she goes, he’s not anticipating on the vacation happening until they’re old and gray. “Some point, she says. Sith, you rightfully give Marr a hard time about being a workaholic, but you’re just as bad. You know I’m going to have to kidnap you to get you on a vacation.”

“Good!” She grins widely. “I’m holding you to that. I assume it’s going to be quite the thrilling adventure, yes? We’ve got to make the rounds, but you better not leave without saying goodbye.”

Andronikos turns his palms up. “I don’t know what kind of mannerless boor you think I am, Kryn, but that’s hurtful.” He makes no effort to hide his mischievous expression. “So would you prefer I congratulate you on the marriage, or on irking the shit out of all those assholes that hate aliens?”

The laugh bursts out of Kryn before she can stop it, and it takes her a moment to rein it in. “Both? They’re equally fantastic.”

“Fair point.” He looks past Kryn to Marr. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to take care of my girl.”

Marr arches one brow. “Do you believe she’d let me get away with _not_ doing so?” 

“Also a fair point.” Andronikos kisses Kryn’s cheek, then drapes one arm around Vowrawn’s shoulders. “We’ll find you before we go. Go play the proper hostess.”

A quick scan of the room shows Pierce and Lord Tsurai - and isn’t _that_ interesting? - looking surprisingly cozy over by the bar. Kryn finishes the rest of her champagne in two quick gulps and wiggles her glass. “I’m suddenly in need of a refill.” She tilts her head toward the bar and wags her eyebrows. “Come on.”

“Shockingly artless for you, _qilitzarai_.” Marr chuckles. “Effective, but artless.” He pauses, just long enough to draw her attention. “Shall I fetch you something to stand on while we’re over there?”

Kryn scowls at him, then ignores him, refusing to give him any more satisfaction; he’s already too smug as it is, in her estimation. She slips behind the bar, sifting through the chilled bottles and resisting the urge to exaggerate craning her neck to look at everyone, since they all tower at least a foot over her. “Lieutenant. Lord Tsurai.”

Pierce wags a finger at Kryn, setting his empty glass next to hers. “You know I got promoted. Can’t help but feel like you had something to do with it.”

“Atroxa and I agreed it was merited,” Kryn replies blithely, as though two Councilors discussing the promotion of a single lieutenant was an everyday affair. “I could tell her to take it back if you don’t feel like you earned it.” She uncorks a bottle, fills both her glass and Pierce’s and pushes his back toward him.

“I damn well earned it and you know it,” he grumbles, taking the glass. “I almost died, thank you very much.”

Lin leans on the bar. “Good thing I showed up to pull his ass out of the fire,” she not-whispers conspiratorially to Kryn. “Be a real shame if the Empire lost an ass that shapely.”

“Wouldn’t it though?” Kryn grins widely, then points at Lin’s prosthetic, shiny and black and etched with a fascinating geometric design. “I see you’ve eschewed the usual style of disguising your cybernetic limb?”

Lin nods, rotating her arm to show Kryn the design. “Friend of mine did all the design work, and no way was I covering that up. Plus, it’s a real attention-getter, which has come in handy a few times.”

“I like it.” Kryn doesn’t bother lowering her voice for her next question. “So, you and Pierce…?” she asks brightly, looking from Lin to Pierce and back. 

“That’s how it goes, isn’t it?” Lin winks at Pierce. “Lieutenant-in-distress is rescued by dashing, gorgeous Sith lord, they fall into bed, so on and so forth? He’s got good taste.” She bats her eyelashes at Kryn. “So do I, my lord,” she adds, distinctly flirty. “My lord _s_ ,” she corrects, pulling back to include Marr.

Marr isn’t sure he’s ever seen Kryn _blush_ , but she’s skirting close as she looks at him and mimes writing something down. “I know what I want for my birthday. Make a note.”

“Noted.” He resists the urge to once again point out the unchanging fact of how _tiny_ she is, and how not-tiny the three of them are, then follow it up with asking her if he wants her to also make a note that she’s on inevitable bedrest the day after. As he fights back a smile, it strikes him that more than four decades of wearing a mask has made him quite lax when it comes to maintaining neutral facial expressions. 

This could be a problem.

Kryn spares one last lingering look at Lin, then picks up her glass. “So, Pierce.” She misses innocence by a wide margin. “Am I still your favorite?” She makes no effort to hide her amusement when Lin turns to see his reaction to this question.

“Why’re you trying to get me in trouble, Funsize?” Pierce is wide-eyed and wounded, eyes darting between the two women. “What did I ever do to _you_?”

Lin links her arm with Pierce’s. “Aww, cheer up, Captain. That just means I need to try harder. What are you doing after this?”

“You, hopefully,” Pierce says with a leer.

Kryn comes around from behind the bar, taking Marr’s arm. “I know where that conversation’s going, and it doesn’t include us.” She pauses, smirks. “This time, anyway. Now … where is my sister?”

“You’re going to have to be a touch more specific. I can examine crowds for you, but you have a small army of sisters.” He feels her scowl before she tilts her head enough for him to see it. “If you mean the Wrath, she’s seated by the windows.”

He’s barely finished the last word before she’s headed that direction, pulling him along with her. She drops rather unceremoniously onto the couch across from Lysch and her companion, not waiting for Marr to sit down before she leans forward, grinning at her sister. “Hello, Lysch. And …?” Kryn openly examines the other Pureblood woman; she’s seen her at the Citadel a few times, but can’t put a name to the face.

“Darth Ainyar, my lords,” Qadit says, inclining her head. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Darth Nox.”

Kryn shakes her head. “Kryn, please, especially at informal gatherings like this. We don’t stand on ceremony in private unless it’s required.”

“Kryn.” Qadit offers a tentative smile. “Qadit Rokimuchar. Lysch has told me quite a bit about you.”

Kryn laughs outright at this, forced to catch her breath before she’s able to respond. “Was any of it complimentary? Lysch has remarked more than once about how I’m the bane of her existence.”

“Indeed, my lord. That is, Kryn.” Qadit isn’t sure she’s ever going to be able to address a Councilor without an honorific and silently hopes Kryn won’t hold that against her. “She’s impressed with your resilience and your dedication to the Empire, even if she won’t admit it now.” Qadit nudges the stern woman next to her. “Oh, she complains, but I think she has high hopes for you.”

“ _Kûskaljuz_ , my sister requires no encouragement from you to be insufferable,” Lysch grumbles.

Qadit smiles, resting a hand on Lysch’s knee. “I know, _razut nuyak_ , but even if neither of you will admit it, I’m sure she appreciates encouragement from you.”

“Qadit is sentimental.” There’s none of the rebuke that Kryn is expecting in Lysch’s voice, though her mouth definitely has an exasperated curve to it. “I suppose it’s good one of us is.” Her tone shifts, abruptly chilly. “Sooner rather than later, we will have to sit down and discuss any changes this will have on the execution of my duties.”

Once again, Kryn is shocked at how easily Lysch shifts between _Lysch_ and _the Wrath_. “No change. If there’s anything we learned from Vitiate, it’s that no one is above the requisite punishment for endangering the Empire.” She shifts in her seat, giving Marr a questioning look.

“Agreed,” he says with no hesitation. 

A single, sharp nod, and Lysch leans back against the couch. “Good. We’ll let you get back to your party.”

Kryn opens her mouth, then closes it after debating the wisdom of needling her sister about sounding like _she’s_ dismissing _them_. Raitlia may get annoyed, but she’s got a much higher tolerance for Kryn’s shenanigans than Lysch does, and no matter how reckless Kryn likes to be, even she knows it’s unwise to needle the Wrath too much. “Thank you. Qadit, the four of us must get together for dinner sometime.”

“It would be our pleasure.” Qadit pays no mind to Lysch’s disagreeing huff. “I’ll be in touch.” 

[4]  
Once the requisite social obligations are met, Marr refills his glass and joins Vowrawn, who immediately takes up a litany of mostly good-natured woes centered on a theme of _what do you mean I wasn’t the first, I’ve been asking to see your face for years_ after Marr mentions that Kryn had hauled him over last night to be reintroduced to her sisters; if Vowrawn doesn’t run down soon, Marr’s going to point out that Andronikos managed it over a year ago. He’s paying enough attention to nod at the appropriate times, at the same time mulling over everything that’s going to have to be conveyed in this speech he has to give, both said and unsaid. 

The rest of his attention, unsurprisingly, is centered on Kryn, drifting from conversation to conversation with an ease he almost envies. She finally coaxes a smile out of Raitlia after a tense, close exchange of words, exclaiming over holos Raitlia produces. Takes notes during a studious conversation with the Ghost’s companion, a quiet man that seems familiar but that Marr can’t place. Flirts with Lord Tsurai again as she passes those two, still loitering by the bar, and this time it’s Tsurai who’s caught off guard, watching open-mouthed as Kryn twitches her fingers in a quick wave and saunters away. Stops to answer questions from her two somber apprentices, waving off others’ attempts to engage her until both apprentices nod, looking less worried than they did when they approached Kryn.

She’s bright and animated in a conversation with a slight Twi’lek woman, standing with her arm wrapped around the waist of a human woman of similar height. There’s much exclaiming and unsubtle glances in Captain Pierce’s direction, followed by a burst of laughter. Pierce’s _hey quit gossiping about me_ only serves to make them laugh harder, of course. Kryn’s sister Liinz, out of her ever-present armor, stops by their group and produces a flask out of an unseen pocket, passing it around to each woman in turn; Kryn nods, holds up three fingers, and a brief, ferocious negotiation ensues, one that finally ends in Kryn grudgingly extending a credit chip to her sister.

Semiri and Scourge are making their way across the room when Kryn touches Liinz’s arm and nods toward them; Liinz nods in return and immediately heads toward Lysch. Kryn intercepts the couple near the door, close enough that Marr can hear their murmured conversation.

“Calling it a night already?” Kryn sounds casual, but worry wrinkles her brow. 

Semiri nods. “I’m tired, he’s tired, and we’re getting up early with everyone else to head out. We’re just going back to Yavin until we figure out where we can go.”

“Semiri.” Kryn takes her sister’s hands. “Stay here. I’m not going to be using this apartment much, anyway, and I told you that we’ll figure something out for you. Scourge, obviously, is no longer considered a traitor, and I think you’re overestimating how many in the Empire know precisely who you are. You could thwart that just by changing your hair and dressing in something other than Jedi brown, not that you wear Jedi brown on a regular basis anyway. I’m going to take care of it. Don’t go sit out in the jungle when you don’t have to.”

Semiri shifts from one foot to the other and back. Closes her eyes and sighs, then looks up at Scourge. “Your thoughts?”

“I am getting a little tired of Yavin’s particular smell,” Scourge says. “Damp leaves and kolto is not a pleasant mix. If Nox -”

“Kryn,” Kryn interjects, peeved. “What is with people refusing to use my name?”

Scourge shrugs. “Habit? Best get used to it now; it certainly won’t happen after you become Empress.” He kisses Semiri’s forehead, then looks toward the windows, eyes on the skyline. “If Kryn doesn’t mind, then I wouldn’t be averse to taking her up on her offer. I’ve missed the city.”

“Fine.” Semiri throws up her hands. “I can’t argue with both of you. But what am I going to wear, Kryn? I certainly can’t borrow _your_ clothes. The skirts would be positively indecent and I’ve no wish to wear shorts all the time.”

“I have trousers!”

“They wouldn’t be trousers on me.”

Kryn lifts her chin. “It’s hardly my fault the rest of you are ridiculously tall. Go shopping!”

“But -”

“Did someone say shopping?” Liinz exclaims, stopping next to Kryn, the rest of her sisters in tow. “We can go tomorrow!”

“I’m so excited,” Semiri mutters, sounding anything but. “Now what’s going on?”

Kryn produces a holorecorder. “Holo time! It’s been _ages_ since we took one.”

“Yes, less than a year is positively _forever_ ,” Raitlia deadpans. “We took one on Nar Shaddaa,or did you forget?”

Kryn ignores this. “Scourge!” She holds the holorecorder out, wiggles it at the Pureblood. “Here! Price of my hospitality,” she adds, also ignoring Semiri’s spluttered annoyance. “Also, your Jedi is touchy; you should tell her to relax.”

Scourge takes the device. “You and I both know that gets me nowhere. All right.” He steps back, motions for the group to get closer together, waits as they shuffle around. “Smile, ladies.” He snaps the holo, then hands the holorecorder back to Kryn.

She pockets it and strolls over to Marr, Andronikos, and Vowrawn. “I see you three have been basically anti-social all night.” She nudges Marr. “You, I expect it from. You two, however?” She points at Vowrawn and Andronikos. “I expected better from you two, not hiding out over here all evening.”

“Vowrawn had a thing - or twelve - to get off his chest,” Marr says mildly. “I could hardly tell him to stop, could I? That would have been impolite.”

Kryn snorts. “As though you’ve ever had a problem bossing people around. But very well. Now what’s this ancient history you mentioned earlier? I want to hear all about it before we leave.”


	58. The Emperor is Dead; Long Live the Emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kryn prepares for the future, and the new Emperor addresses his people.

[1]  
“Senna, if I offered you my Council seat, would you take it?”

Kryn’s Second hands Kryn a cup of caf, then drops into the chair on the other side of Kryn’s desk. This is totally out of character for Nox, and Senna can’t help but be instantly suspicious. “No. Don’t tell my mother, but no. I don’t want to sit in meetings while everyone else gets to do the fun stuff. I belong in the field.” She takes a sip of her own caf. “Is there something you want to tell me, my lord?”

Kryn taps her fingers on the arm of her chair, deep in thought. “Better you know now and we can begin preparations, I suppose. I’m going to be stepping down as Councilor.”

Senna’s eyes go wide. “What? Why? My lord, you love your work. Almost every initiative you’ve put in place has been successful. You’ve even prodded the Council toward a better representation of the Empire.” Her mouth thins. Senna’s loyal to the Empire first, as she should be, but Nox herself is a close second, and under her leadership their sphere has thrived beyond what Senna ever expected. “If there’s a problem, my lord, we’ll handle it.”

“How far we’ve come from when I selected you.” Kryn’s expression is almost wistful. “Those first few months, I wasn’t sure you’d even stay as my Second. Remember?”

Senna nods. There had been more than a few rumblings that Darth Nox’s appointment was little more than a publicity stunt meant to placate the masses, and Senna hadn’t been too pleased to become part of the inevitable circus that would follow. It was actually her father who’d persuaded her to accept the offer to be Nox’s Second, wisely pointing out that even if it ended poorly, she’d have raised her own standing in the Empire.

Their first few months together had been prickly; Nox took her cue for her Second from other Councilors, who had their Seconds in attendance nearly every day. Although most of the sphere’s work encompassed the Reclamation Service and fielding requests for research, Senna had made little effort to conceal her distaste for being stuck at a desk, and one afternoon she’d come back from getting a caf to find her new Councilor in her chair, boots propped up on one corner of the desk.

“Second, I think it’s about time we talk.”

“My lord, I have work to do.”

Nox had nodded, looking at the piles of datapads. “Work you hate. No, don’t bother mounting a half-assed denial. Tell me, what do you think you should be doing?”

“I should be out at dig sites. I should be charting new locations. I should be receiving the after-actions. I shouldn’t be sitting _here_ doing any sort of busywork that any of these apprentices could do. I didn’t do advanced studies in a variety of ancient cultures to sit at the Citadel.” A longer pause than was prudent. “My lord.”

Nox had tapped one fingertip against her chin for a moment, then nodded. “Agreed. You have my leave to execute your duties as you see fit. Why I’m trying to follow what the rest of those old men do is beyond me, anyway. All I require is that you keep me informed, and that the work I’ve given to you here is delegated to competent apprentices who won’t cower every time I talk to them.” Thereafter, their working relationship had vastly improved, the two of them making great strides in almost every area of responsibility for the sphere.

Senna sets her caf on the desk and leans forward, actual worry beginning to gnaw at her. “Tell me what’s going on, Nox.” 

“You know that I’ve been seeing someone for some time now.”

Unsure what this has to do with Nox stepping down, Senna nods. “Yes. Though you’ve been pretty tight-lipped about it,” she continues, half-chiding. “We do love our gossip, you know. And you owe me for _accidentally_ mentioning Barash and Bryasere.”

“I know. However, we’ve had to keep it private, given that the Council traditionally frowns on two Councilors being in a relationship.”

Senna nods. “Yes, because of Zyna and ….” She trails off, suddenly thoughtful. “Two Councilors. So are they forcing you to step down because of your relationship? Pardon me, my lord, but that’s some bantha shit. You shouldn’t just acquiesce; fight it! It’d be one thing if it were, say, Atroxa and Tekton, because they could really endanger the Empire. But _our_ sphere? That’s nonsense. How dare they -” 

Kryn holds up her hands, stilling Senna’s rant. “No, that’s not it either.”

“Who is it, my lord?”

“Darth Marr.”

Senna’s lip trembles. She hurriedly lifts a hand to conceal it, but a laugh bursts out of her before she can stop it, and soon she’s slumped in her chair, completely overtaken by uncontrollable laughter. Three false starts at calm, and she finally sits up, wiping tears out of her eyes. “I’m sorry, my lord, you’re trying that same joke Bryasere did? I just … all right, all right. I have it under control. Now tell me who it _really_ is that you’re seeing.”

Kryn watches Senna over the top of her caf cup and says nothing.

“Seriously?” Senna doesn’t even attempt to scrub the disbelief out of her voice. She and Bryasere had had a long running and _extremely_ secret betting pool on which of their Councilors were going to snap first. Up until a little over a year ago, Nox and Marr’s working relationship had been acrimonious at best, and Senna had been privy to a vast number of Nox’s rants about the gruff, no-nonsense Councilor. “You’re not just having fun at my expense? You. And Darth Marr.”

Kryn nods, her expression still placid.

Senna silently chides herself for her own lacking observation, but as she thinks back, even after Nox and Marr apparently reached whatever their understanding was after the battle on Yavin 4, they’d never been anything but politely professional at the Citadel. “But at the announcement, Vowrawn said that Darth Marr’s going to be ….” Senna’s mouth falls open. “If you two aren’t breaking things off because he’s taking the throne, then does that mean you’re going to be …?”

This time, Kryn smiles brightly, then nods. “As much as I’d like to stay, I’m not going to have time to run the sphere properly and fulfill my duties as Empress, so I need to find a suitable replacement. I wanted to ask you first; you’d be an excellent Councilor, but it does involve quite a bit of work here at the Citadel, so I understand if you’d rather stay on as Second. That said, if that’s your choice, we’ll start compiling dossiers of eligible replacements, because I’d like you to have a say in it. After all, you’ll be the one working with them.”

“I appreciate that, my lord.” Senna’s brow creases. “So someone who supports the projects we have planned. At least some knowledge of how the Council works. Hmm.” She stands, picking up her caf. “I don’t have anything else to work on today, my lord. I’ll start putting these together.”

Kryn stands, as well. “I have a fitting; I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I won’t be back today. You can use my office, if you like, so you have some privacy, and I know you can handle any calls that come up. I’d prefer not to be interrupted by anyone other than you, if you need something.”

Senna nods, waiting until Kryn makes her way around the desk to take her place. “I’ll handle it, my lord. We have two expeditions coming back today, but I can oversee the intake procedures, and I’ll see if Darth Tenere has time to send me information on my suggestions for replacements.”

Kryn conceals a smile as she watches Senna settle in, already focused on what she wants to accomplish. “All right, Senna. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

[2]  
The parking area behind Talieste’s shop is empty, save Talieste’s own beat-up black speeder and a high-end, latest-model bright green one, when Kryn arrives. She slips in through the client door set into the back wall, her steps slowing as she crosses the downstairs showroom.

It’s quiet.

 _Too_ quiet.

Talieste’s excellent craftsmanship – and her high-profile work for Darth Marr – ensures that her armor is constantly in demand among the Sith, and normally the sounds of the busy workrooms that comprise the majority of the building filter down into the studio and showroom. Today, the only thing Kryn hears is her own heels as they strike the floor. She glances at her chrono, wondering if she’s somehow missed her appointment, but no, she’s right on time. Kryn drops her hand to her saber, almost on instinct, and comes to a complete stop, cautiously reaching through the Force.

“My lord, are you coming up for this fitting? Or are you going to stand around downstairs all day?”

Kryn starts when Talieste’s voice fills the silent showroom, pressing a hand to her chest and chuckling ruefully. “It was too quiet in here! I didn’t know what happened.” She follows the brusque armorer up the stairs. “Did you shut down for today?”

“Yes. First is your fitting, and Marr is on his way; I want approval on the armor and then I’m getting the internal systems fitted in it.” Talieste strides into her studio. “Your designer is here, as well, so we can try everything together and make adjustments as necessary. I hope you cleared your schedule, just in case.”

“I did. I –“

“Kryn!” Celinin, in a plain black sleeveless shirt, matching close-fitting trousers, and a belt with a plethora of pockets and pouches on it, stands from where she’s making last minute adjustments. Her short hair is in complete disarray, and dark circles shadow her eyes. The largest caf cup Clechad Caf sells sits on a nearby table. “Come see!”

Talieste sucks her teeth, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “Or she could look at it after she puts it on? Might I remind the pair of you that I have _multiple_ fittings today?”

Celinin and Kryn exchange a look, then nod hurriedly, not wishing to chance any more of Talieste’s ire. Celinin takes the dress off the stand and drapes it over Kryn’s outstretched arms, then tilts her head toward the dressing rooms. “Better hurry.” Kryn disappears into the closer of the two rooms, reappearing in record time, and Celinin points at the raised platform. “If you please?”

Kryn obliges; Celinin circles her. “It looks like it should fit properly under the armor but if it bunches, tell me and we’ll fix it. Originally I was just going to make you a skirt but you’ll get more use out of it as a dress, and there will be less adjusting.” She turns to Talieste and nods. “Everything looks good; your turn. Oh!” She opens a pouch and extracts a pair of elbow-length, sheer mesh gloves. “Put these on.” As Kryn does, Celinin moves to the side. “All you.”

Talieste, waiting next to a small cart, steps forward and holds out an intricately designed high-necked chestpiece with attached pauldrons. “This should fit over those wide straps; it fastens down the side.” Once Kryn adjusts it, she holds out a pair of gauntlets. “These.”

Kryn finishes and Talieste steps back to eye her work. She has to admit, the design is one of her best. The chestpiece and pauldrons are black etched with silver, the pauldrons worked into a design that resembles nothing so much as lightning strikes exploding outward from Kryn’s shoulders without drawing attention away from her face. The same motif repeats in black on the gauntlets, veins of lightning spidering up Kryn’s arms from the pointed fingertips. Below the armor, Celinin’s skirt swirls like a miniature storm system, comprised of innumerable layers of whisper-thin shimmersilk in various purple hues.

“How does the dress fit under the armor?” Celinin fluffs the skirt, glaring critically at Kryn’s shoulders. “I don’t see it peeking out anywhere; do you?”

Kryn turns this way and that in front of the mirror. “I don’t, and I can barely tell it’s there, actually.” She glances over her shoulder at Celinin. “If I promise no more huge projects with only two days’ notice, can I convince you to become my official couturier?”

“I’d be wounded if you didn’t ask, and you know it.” Celinin crouches, lifts up Kryn’s hem, then drops it and stands. “Be sure to wear a decent heel if you don’t want the skirt dragging. Also, I had some ideas for when you wear it without armor.”

The two women, engrossed in their discussion of accessories, don’t notice when Marr steps through the doorway, feeling distinctly underdressed in simple black armor. He sets the large box he’s carrying at his feet without looking, his attention fully fixed on Kryn, standing with her back to him and gesturing about something that might involve a jacket, if he was forced to hazard a guess. She hadn’t shared Celinin’s half of the design with him, proclaiming her desire to keep it a surprise; he can’t help but admire how well the entire ensemble fits her nickname, wondering if that was a purposeful choice on her part.

“My work here is done,” Talieste snaps when the two women show no signs of ending their conversation. “Nox, I have a carrying case for you when you’re ready to depart. Now, the two of you go over there or something. Darth Marr, as I’m sure you have not merely decided to take the casual route for your visit today, I will take your now obsolete armor. Your new armor is on your usual stand.” She turns her attention to the box without another word, more interested in its contents than if Marr is following her orders.

He stops next to Kryn, standing stock-still as Celinin takes measurements and records them on a datapad. “ _Qilitzarai_ , you look quite regal.”

Kryn turns, her face lighting up. “I do, don’t I?” She strikes a pose, immediately dropping it when Celinin nudges her. 

“What are you wearing as an eyecovering? Or are you foregoing it entirely?”

Behind Kryn, Celinin looses an impressive stream of invectives. “I _knew_ I forgot something. I’m just not up to par on this little sleep. Give me a minute.”

“Flimsy on the table, Maifarr,” Talieste says, “and Marr, if you don’t get in that dressing room in the next thirty seconds, we’re going to have a problem.”

“I should go.”

Kryn makes no attempt to hide her amusement. “Indeed. She’s liable to snap you in half.”

He disappears into the dressing room, armor in tow, and Kryn busies herself watching Talieste dismantle his old armor with surprising swiftness until Celinin returns with a sheet of flimsy. “I’m thinking something like this.” She extends the sheet, waits for Kryn to take it. “The jeweled band and lengthy veil hearken to traditional silhouettes, and if there’s a breeze where you do this, the veil will provide a lovely backdrop to your armor. I can either have it be one single piece of cloth anchored by the band, or two pieces so you can put your hair up. Only issue is the diadem. I don’t have time to have one commissioned.” She shrugs. “Not one that will be of acceptable quality, anyway.”

“If that’s all you’re missing,” Marr says as he passes back by them, stopping to look at the flimsy, “I can take care of it.”

Kryn doesn’t see Celinin’s quizzical look, too busy giving Marr and his new armor a lingering once-over as he crosses the studio. She’d wondered if removing the spikes would disrupt the silhouette too much, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Instead of armor clearly made for combat, now it’s crafted out of much finer materials; it’s no less battle-ready, or he’d never wear it, but it’s much more suited to his changing role than the old armor was. The armor plates themselves are ebony, smooth and polished to a high sheen. Glimpses of thick black armorweave can be seen between the pauldrons and gauntlets, as well as between the cuisses and tall armored boots. The majority of the details on the armored chestpiece are done in silver, though there’s a smattering of red used to startling effect.

Celinin leans forward, laughter a tremor in her voice. “You’re not going to stare like this every time he has to wear that, are you? People are going to talk if you do. You’re almost slack-jawed.”

Kryn shifts her gaze away from Marr, now being scrutinized by Talieste, to Celinin. “I am _not_.”

“You are.” Celinin shakes the flimsy. “So what do you want me to do as far as accommodating your hair?”

“One piece. I’ll leave it down.”

Celinin looks up at the ceiling, thinking. “I think that will look best. So I’ll finish the layers for this tonight; you can get the headpiece?” When Kryn murmurs an assent, she nods, fingers flying as she sends a short message. “If there’s nothing else you need me for, then, I’m going to get started on that. Everything with the dress looks good; this should be all you need. Either I’ll have a courier bring it by or I’ll bring it by myself. Are you going to be at your office tomorrow?”

“Yes; you can bring it by anytime. If I’m not in there, Senna will be able to tell you where I’m at or get in touch with me.”

Celinin finishes packing up her things and shifts the large bag onto one shoulder. “Good. I’ll see you then. Remember to not stare too hard.” She winks at Kryn, then vanishes through the doorway after a cursory wave at Talieste and Marr.

“Well?” Talieste steps back, hands on her hips. “Problems? Critiques?”

Marr runs through a range of movements, mild displeasure on his face. “It fits strangely.”

“The medical and technological components will be inserted differently, due to the makeup of the armor. This does necessitate a different weight distribution, though not so much of one that you’ll notice it if for some reason you do find yourself in the middle of combat in the Citadel.” She crosses the room, plucks something off her workbench, and returns to his side. “Try this on. Also, I know how you feel about capes –“

“Laigoss.”

She ignores the warning in his tone. “But unless you want to walk around with a hood either on your bare head or hanging down your back, both of which would look stupid, I would suggest you take me up on my offer for a purely ceremonial cape. Wear it only for extremely formal occasions. Play to the drama that you Sith seem to love so much.” She arches a brow. “Look at it as cultural outreach.”

He sighs. “I can practically feel you grinning, Kryn.”

“What can I say? It’s hardly my fault you look good in them.” Her voice turns sly. “And your armorer, the woman you trust your life to, thinks it’s a good idea. I bet she has a cape ready, even.”

Marr catches Talieste’s eye in the mirror, sighing again when she nods. “It appears I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“I knew you’d see reason. Put that mask on.” Talieste opens a smallish case, extracting a swath of rich black armorweave. “And then put this on; I need to see how everything looks together.”

He does so, examining his reflection for a long moment as the cape swirls around his legs before settling into place. Just once, he’d like Kryn to _not_ be right about these things, but once again, her sense of style is unerring and he looks far better with the damn cape than without it.

Kryn steps up on the raised platform next to him, smug smirk on her lips. “Really frosts your cookies, doesn’t it?”

“The possibility exists.” He pushes the hood back and removes the mask, making a face. “I see there was no exaggeration about how uncomfortable this mask would be.”

Talieste shrugs. “It was either make it functional for the amount of time it’s going to be used and then focus attention on everything else, or make it comfortable and cut corners elsewhere. I made a command decision. Darth Nox, you may bring your armor home; your transportation case is next to the armor stand and Maifarr left a bag for your dress. If you find any problems with the armor, notify me immediately, no matter the time. Marr, I will let you know as soon as yours is ready to be picked up, unless you’d like it delivered by courier.”

“Since he’s in supposed seclusion,” Kryn points out, “perhaps it would be wisest to have it delivered to my office.”

Talieste considers, then nods. “Indeed.” She snaps her fingers. There’s still plenty of work to do on the armor before the deadline and she doesn’t have time to be standing around chatting. “Go change and get out of here.”

[3]  
Meneday morning has dawned warmer and drier than predicted, though the brisk breeze reminds everyone outdoors that they’re not so very far removed from winter yet. The large walled square in front of the Citadel is teeming with Imperials, all talking amongst themselves, practically heedless of the multitude of red-clad guards patrolling the area. The Councilors’ Seconds mingle with the crowd, though their watchful gazes are at odds with the more relaxed people around them.

Darth Tenere, standing with the rest of the Council, checks her chrono and nods to the black-robed human woman standing near a portable transmitter, one of several stationed around the square. “Begin broadcasting on the usual frequency. We’ll interrupt all other Imperial frequencies when it’s time.”

Across the Empire, receivers tuned to the official frequency flicker to life. The imposing black doors of the Citadel, nearly indistinguishable from the walls surrounding them, loom behind an empty raised platform. The Council stands on the right side, talking amongst themselves. Across the Empire, chronos are checked and businesses come to a standstill. Silence envelops military bases, outposts, training grounds, all work paused. The academies are much the same, lessons set aside so that no one misses this bit of Imperial history in the making.

At precisely 10, the Citadel doors open.

Lana keys in a code on her gauntlet; all Imperial-controlled Holonet frequencies, as well as the two frequencies the Hutts have designated for the broadcast and the one designated by Republic SIS so that the Republic doesn’t remain the only political entity unaware of the day’s proceedings, switch to the still empty platform. 

Darth Marr, immediately recognizable despite the lack of fearsome spikes, strides out of the doors and toward the platform. As he passes from the walled walkway into the open square, a gust of wind catches his cape and sends it billowing behind him, eliciting more than one quiet gasp from the Imperials assembled in the square; very few people notice Darth Nox’s small, satisfied smile when this happens. He pauses for a moment, hands clasped behind his back, attention focused on the transmitter.

“Our Empire stands on the precipice of greatness, and it is vital to have a steady hand to guide her through these precarious times. I have served the Empire for more than forty-three years, since Darth Cardav chose me as his Second, through open war, cold war, renewed hostilities, and cautious peace. Even now, more worlds fall into step with us. Even now, we continue to recover from the catastrophic loss of Ziost. 

“And yet, the Republic believes their vaunted diversity outmatches us, refusing to acknowledge the diversity within the Empire. They believe that we will eventually tear ourselves apart, but they are wrong; our strength lies not only in our people, but also in our unity. More than ever, that unity of purpose and clarity of vision will be crucial as we sustain the work we have already begun. We are only beginning to realize our true potential.”

Supreme Chancellor Saresh, watching in her office, flanked by Satele Shan and Jace Malcom, sets her empty snifter on her desk with far more force than necessary. “Of course. We can’t have one speech where we don’t impugn the Republic. That might get in the way of our propaganda.” 

Jace opens his mouth to respond, closing it when Satele shakes her head. On the broadcast, Marr continues.

“Vitiate’s rule was marked by suspicion, secrets, and obfuscation, beginning and ending with the mass murder of Imperials. My reign will not be tarnished by such dishonor. Neither I nor my actions will be concealed, because I have nothing to hide from my people.”

Much of the galaxy watches in varying states of shock and disbelief – and in the Empire, no small amount of trepidation – as Marr reaches up, pushes his hood back, and removes his mask, paying no attention to the audible gasps from within the square. Vast sums of credits change hands on Nar Shaddaa and elsewhere as old, old bets suddenly come due.

“It has been suggested that following in my predecessor’s footsteps and decimating a whole planet in order to make myself immortal would be a poor leadership choice; I concur with that assessment. The Judiciary has decreed the throne shall be hereditary, passed to a Force-sensitive child of the previous ruler. Thus, it behooves me to select an Empress who possesses great strength in the Force, as well as the necessary character to lead the Empire.”

The pivot from politics to social affairs brings with it renewed attention from some whose dedication to the speech had been waning. No one expects Darth Marr to suddenly become some sort of outgoing butterfly, commitment to transparency – or _as much transparency as Sith are willing to extend_ , non-Force sensitives mutter to themselves – notwithstanding. His choice, depending on her level of engagement with the public, will drive trends in Kaas City and even within the larger Empire, a subject some find far more entertaining than Marr’s intonations about service and duty. 

“Instrumental in the defeat of Vitiate, she is an unparalleled Force walker, heir to the great Kallig bloodline, and a Councilor with a wide-ranging knowledge of our history.” He surveys the Council, his gaze unerring. The upturn of his mouth is brief, the soft smile there and gone in the blink of an eye as Darth Nox, skirts swirling around her like a summer storm, ascends the platform to stand with him, the barest hint of a smirk on her lips. Her eyecovering, this one a dramatic veil falling down her back and concealing her crimson hair, is made of the same material as her skirt; it ripples in the breeze, held in place by a jeweled diadem. “There is no other I would trust to steward the Empire at my side,” he says, the audience seemingly forgotten, holding out the mask. 

She takes it as sound rises in the square, a murmuring tide of reaction growing louder as it’s left unchecked. After a moment, she gives a slight nod, and he has to hold his hands up for silence, the tightness of his jaw a clear sign that he didn’t miss the angry undercurrent of the response.

“There are those of you who will say she has not ‘earned’ her place. Those of you who will say she is an affront to everything _you_ believe the Empire should be. You are entitled to those thoughts, but should those thoughts become actions, you will swiftly discover that there is still no place in this Empire for traitors. I am unconcerned with whether a handful of traditionalists approve of my decisions. I am concerned only with the Empire as a whole, and will not allow us to be divided by petty, needless divisions; those who cause such divisions, or abet their progress, will find themselves ruthlessly excised from our society.”

His hand comes to rest on the hilt of his lightsaber as his hard stare finds the Imperials who have separated themselves from the rest of the gathered crowd; a few of their number attempt to stand their ground before dropping their heads, unwilling to push the challenge further. When they have all been thus subdued, he releases his saber, once again clasping his hands behind his back. “The Empire is on a clear course, and we, in concert with the Council, are here to ensure its success. Continue to grow in unity and strength.”

As one, the Emperor and Empress depart the platform, disappearing into the Citadel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, the end of book 2! I hope you all have had as much fun reading this one as I did writing it.
> 
> I'm going to be working on moving across town for the rest of the month, as well as plotting out my general outline for book 3. (I already have a few scenes written; it's going to be a good time.) I'm hoping that I'll be able to have the first chapter of book 3 published once I get back from Norwescon, but who knows, maybe inspiration will strike and I'll get that first chapter out before I go. :D So while there is going to be a short hiatus, there is definitely lots, lots more coming.


	59. A Return to Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kryn and Marr return from a semi-impromptu three week break to settle in to their new offices and tackle some of the more pedestrian administrative duties awaiting them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was toying with the idea of ending this after Book 2, I'd removed this chapter, but now that we're going full steam ahead, here it is back. xD

[1]  
One of the perks of being a Councilor, Bryasere has discovered, is that people _get out of your way_.

Oh, she’d seen it happen with Darth Marr countless times over the years, but she’d assumed that that was more due to his armor and the unmistakeable feeling that if you didn’t move, he’d simply run you over; turns out, now that she's a Councilor she can walk from her office all the way to the caf stand on the main concourse and not look up once from her datapad, a fact she’s taken advantage of quite a number of times in the three weeks since she’d been seated on the Council. She’s doing so again today, sorting through a roster of nominees for the Imperialis, whose sole mission will be protecting the Emperor and Empress. Once she’s chosen a commander, she can turn over the rest of the selection process to them, clearing one duty off her seemingly unending list. 

There’s a single stool at a newly-installed side counter at the caf stand, and it remains empty save for when she’s there. She sits, but doesn’t look up or try to catch Barash’s attention. He’ll notice her soon enough, and until the she can --

“Darth Adamas.” Barash sets a steaming cup of tea in front of her; she makes an unintelligible noise and keeps reading. When she’s this fixed on what she’s doing, there’s no getting a word out of her, but Barash knows her, knows her routine, and already has her lunch cooking. As soon as it’s done he brings it over. “Working late again tonight?”

This time she does look up. “Likely. I’ve got deadlines approaching and I need to give status reports.”

It’s the answer he was expecting, and he nods. Things will calm down once then Citadel settles into a routine with the new rules, he’s sure. They’ve just finished the construction on the new offices; today is the first day that an excess of droids and various drilling and banging noises haven’t been his background music the entirety of his shift, and he’s been enjoying the return to normalcy. The concourse is always busy, and he rarely has time to stand around, but that’s how he likes it. He hands out the next three orders in rapid succession, and is just getting ready take another when it finally strikes him that the concourse is almost _abnormally_ quiet for this time of day. People standing in line have turned to look behind them. Everyone passing by has stopped. The entire space has come to a standstill.

And then Darth Nox - _Empress_ Nox - steps in line.

Discomfort, there and gone faster than a summer lightning strike as everyone bows; she smiles and waves off the offers to let her go to the front of the line. Darth Marr stands a short distance behind her, and even without a mask he’s practically a statue, impassively observing the deference paid him before people all but scurry away.

Nox - the _empress_ , he reminds himself - seems as relaxed as she ever is in his line, scrolling through a datapad as she waits, promptly pocketing it when she steps up to the counter. She looks past him to Bryasere, then smiles. “I like the new addition to your counter space. So does Darth Adamas, apparently.”

“I, uh ….” Barash fumbles a cup off the stack. “Yes, my lord.” A momentary look of panic alights on his face then disappears. “Majesty? I’m not sure what to -”

“‘My lord’ is fine,” Nox says, giving him a curious look. “That’s always been fine before, yes?”

Barash drops the first cup he’d picked up, reaches for another one. “Yes, my lord. The usual?”

“Both, please.”

When he turns to get the large Reserve, he notices Bryasere staring at him, one eyebrow raised. He shakes his head and busies himself finishing Nox’s, then hands them both to her. “The usual, as requested,” he says, attempting a bright tone closer to their previous interactions. 

“Fantastic. What I make myself just isn’t the same.” She raises one cup in Bryasere’s direction. “Darth Adamas.”

Bryasere swivels her stool, inclines her head. “My lords. Here to see your new offices?”

“That and meetings,” Kryn says with a somewhat rueful chuckle. “Always meetings. If I’d known this involved so many meetings, I might have declined.” A pause, and a smirk. “I can’t tell if he’s raised an eyebrow at me or is just standing there stone-faced.”

“Stone-faced, my lord, as usual.” Bryasere doesn’t mention the eyebrow _twitch_ ; Nox hadn’t presented that as an alternative, and she sees no reason to volunteer the information. “It really is quite a talent he’s cultivated over the years.”

Behind Kryn, Marr taps his chrono. “We _are_ on something of a schedule.”

Kryn’s smirk grows wider as she turns. “Are you saying even _we_ can’t show up late?”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“You’re going to take all the fun out of this whole ultimate freedom thing, I can tell already.”

His response is lost as they disappear down the hall, and Bryasere clears her throat. “Barash, what is wrong with you? Why were you acting like ….” She waves a hand in the direction of the ordering counter. “Like whatever all that was?”

“How do you expect me to act, Bry?” Barash heaves an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry I’m not relaxed around the Empress? But it’s sort of stressful making caf for the _Empress_.” When Bryasere’s mouth twitches, he scowls. “What?”

Bryasere shrugs. “She’s still Nox, you know. You were fine with her three weeks ago, right before the speech. Nothing’s changed in those three weeks, other than her getting a much nicer office with a better view.” She raises an eyebrow. “I went from not only lord to Darth, but to a Council seat, and you’re fine with me.”

“I … you… it’s different.” He picks up a cloth, intently focusing on whatever it is he’s wiping off the counter. “All my life, the Emperor’s been this vague, unseen force that was watching everything, or so we were told. Then when he _does_ make his presence known, he goes on a murderous rampage, destroys a _whole world_ , and stopping him put one Councilor totally out of commission for weeks.” He turns the cloth over in his hands. “And now, after those past four decades, you think the Emperor and Empress strolling up to my caf stand is just fine?” Tossing the rag into a small bin, he shakes his head, uneasy even now about discussing the rulers of the Empire so casually in conversation. “It’s just not that simple.”

Bryasere stands, pockets her datapad, and picks up her tea and lunch. “Well, let me know what I can do to help. I’ve got to go; are you waiting for me again or shall I just see you at home?”

“I’ll see you at home. I’m heading out as soon as I’m done today; I’ve been putting off ordering and now I’m down to the wire.” He smiles. “I’ll have dinner ready, though.”

She gives him one last brilliant smile and disappears down the hall. 

[2]  
As the door opens, sound rolls out of the reception office. Conversation upon conversation, the words melted into indistinguishable babble. The hum of datacard libraries. Soft snatches of the Kaas Symphony behind it all. The lord nearest the door sees them first and hastily concludes her holocom conversation, clearing her throat as she stands. The noise drops to nearly nonexistent as everyone else follows suit, inclining their heads almost in unison as Kryn and Marr step into the space. 

“As you were,” Marr says, watching as everyone straightens. “To lessen the interruptions to your work, such ceremony is only required upon our first arrival. I trust we can all make that adjustment.”

A chorus of _yes, my lord_ , and then everyone goes back to work. One of the Sith - a tall, slender human of about forty, his long hair woven into countless tiny braids - steps forward from the back of the office. “Good morning, your majesties. I am Lord Cui Yoscas, and I will be your Citadel liaison, if you'll have me. I oversee your Council advisors, manage all traffic through the office, and keep everything here running so that you can shepherd the Empire without being distracted by smaller details unworthy of your notice.”

“Who assigned you to this post?”

“Darth Tenere, my lord,” Yoscas says, shifting slightly to look directly at Marr. “She requested I inform you that she has sent you both a copy of my full dossier, including the results of my clearance examination and my interview with her and Darth Adamas.”

Marr nods, satisfied, then looks at Kryn.

She gives Yoscas a polite but remote non-smile. “If I were new to the Capital District, or even just Kaas City in general, where would you recommend I go to eat?”

Yoscas ponders for a long moment, tapping his fingers on his lightsaber hilts. “For an extended trip, you can't beat the places on the southern coast near the fisheries. There are some that have dedicated stock and let you catch your own fish. Closer to the Citadel, there is a growing number of restaurants near the Csillan Sector being opened by aliens, with a truly astonishing variety of cuisines. My husband and I make a point to try a new place each week, and we've ended up in that area more often than not.”

“Excellent.” Pleased with both his answer and his straightforward address, this time a genuine smile graces her face. “Do you have any information we need to know?”

“You have a meeting in approximately fifteen minutes with Darth Vowrawn and an architect, followed by one with Darth Otium, though that one has no dedicated start time and I'm simply to inform her when you're ready.”

She'd been expecting Yoscas to need to pull out a datapad, but he rattles off the schedule from memory, raising him in her estimation. “Good. Do inform us when Vowrawn arrives.” She turns to Marr. “Shall we?” A lift is set into the back wall of the office, hardly noticeable but for the security pad next to it; Kryn places her palm flat against the matte black pad and waits. 

A dulcet tone sounds and the doors slide open; they step on, and Kryn examines the map and keypad, then keys in a floor. The lift rises, stopping at the former Council meeting room at the very top of the Citadel. Vowrawn had been exceedingly cross about losing it, even when they'd given him another meeting room two floors down, and as he steps off the lift, Marr is sure he'll be hearing about it again during the meeting today. Next to him, Kryn gasps and pulls him out of his thoughts. “What is it?”

“This is gorgeous!” she exclaims, looking around the broad anteroom. Sculptures are set in the corners of the hall, and a variety of landscapes from around the Empire grace the walls. There’s a door to their immediate right and a door slightly down to the left. She looks from one to the other. “Come on.” She opens the door to the left first and steps into an elegant receiving room. 

At the initial meeting to discuss the renovation of the space, Kryn’s only demand had been that the rooms not be decorated in anything _dark_ , and she’s pleased to see how well that was executed. The majority of the room is pale ivory, the two walls decorated with a delicate, unobtrusive gold pattern. A deep crimson runner bisects the floor, leading to a platform two steps higher than the rest of the room and two stately, intricately carved chairs. The height affords a spectacular view: Kaas City stretches as far as the eye can see on two sides, giving anyone standing at the windows the feeling that they’re standing at the top of the Empire. A peek into the room on the opposite wall reveals everything needed to reset the room for any number of types of receptions or dinners, from tables and chairs to linens in various colors. 

Next to the receiving room, their joint office space, decorated in the same pale ivory, has already been furnished with two large desks, shelving, a conference table and chairs, and a small cafe table upon which sits a handcrafted tea set. Kryn surveys the blank walls, then pulls out her datapad, making a note to select artwork. She examines the four holocrons displayed on a shelf behind one of the desks, then settles into her seat; everything from her desk down in her old office is in the same place on the new desk, and she dashes off a thank you message to Senna - now Darth Sagacem, after her acceptance of Kryn’s offer to become the new Councilor for the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, though it had come with much grumbling due in no small part to Kryn’s own smugness over Senna’s acceptance. 

Marr sits down, brings up his map, his messages, and Lord Yoscas’ dossier. “Yoscas was one of Beniko’s. Unequivocally recommended by her and Adamas.” He falls silent, skimming the information. “Nothing concerning that I can see.”

“Good. I liked his suggestion to go to the coast. We should do that.”

Marr raises an eyebrow. “You approve of his appointment because he gave you restaurant recommendations?”

Kryn chuckles. “Not entirely, but I do appreciate them. Besides, if there was anything concerning in the dossier, you’d find it before I would. Did you think I didn’t know that’d be the first thing you did when we got here?”

Before Marr can answer, Kryn’s holocom chimes; a touch of a button reveals Yoscas. “My lord, Darth Vowrawn is here for his meeting, accompanied by two others. They’re in the vestibule; shall I send them up?”

“Yes. Do you already have lift access?”

Yoscas’ hologram nods. “Yes, my lord. Per Darth Nomas, I’m the only one aside from the two of you, simply for ease of facilitating my duties, but she installed an administrative panel in your office if that ever needs to change.”

“Excellent. Yes, send them up; they may come directly into our office.”

Yoscas bows and disconnects; a few minutes later, Vowrawn, a Togruta, and a Cathar step through the door. Kryn and Marr both stand, and Marr indicates the conference table. The three Sith sit, and the Togruta and Cathar both bow. 

“My lords,” the Togruta says, “we thank you for this unparalleled opportunity. I am Abada Zaasi, and my companion is Lord Rylin Mis.” She extracts a sheaf of large sheets of flimisplast from her case, while Rylin inserts a datacard into the table, activating a rendering of vast walled grounds, separated into terraces. “As you can see, the estate will be divided into three distinct areas, which I will discuss in detail after this overview. I’ve taken my inspiration for the exteriors of all buildings within the estate from the Ascendant period. I find it to be the most regal, while also being less overwrought than the later Triumphal.”

Marr zooms in on the detail first at the top of the walls, then on the large central building and the building set back on the peninsula. “A distinctly Kisagian influence,” he notes, “rather than later Ascendant. A laudable choice, though I do see a few Triumphal details here and there.”

If Zaasi is surprised at this analysis, it doesn't show on her face. “Yes, my lord. For all of the Triumphal period’s excess, it's still necessary that the estate convey the appropriate status before visitors even set foot on the grounds. If I may?”

“Of course.” A touch on a panel, and the full rendering is once again visible. “Pardon my interruption.”

Zaasi shakes her head at this. “I'm pleased you noticed, my lord. We just have no wish to unduly impose on your time. I'll begin from the entrance.” She extracts a sheet of flimsy, then pulls the focal point in the rendering to the first terrace. “As you have likely noticed, my lords, access is via one path, thus funneling anyone idiotic enough to launch an attack through a single choke point. Each of these spires are manned guard stations, designed so as to be unobtrusive while providing the necessary level of first line defense.” She touches a button. “Speeders pass through security here, and are then directed to the lot. Passing out of the lot, they stroll through a display of the history of the Empire.”

Vowrawn sits forward. “Said history, of course, is very carefully written so as to comply with the new guidelines.” One of Marr’s first decrees was to eliminate all mentions of Vitiate, declaring that the former ruler of the Empire would be known only as the Recreant, so abominable were his acts.

“Just so, my lord.” Zaasi nods. “They'll pass from there to the Path of the Leaders, with statues of the current Council lining both sides. Across the wide boulevard,” she continues, indicating the area on the rendering, “is the Path of Sacrifice. These holographic statues can be programmed with a database of Imperials for a dynamic display, and these four large blocks will be an endlessly scrolling list of Imperials lost to war. In these two corners of this terrace are your heavy armor complement and your complement of air support, with permanent personnel stationed for both. The open area around the boulevard will have its natural Kaas vegetation, avoiding a too-sterile feeling.”

Kryn surveys the terrace for a moment. “Remind me not to park in the front unless someone’s going to either meet me at the stairs with snacks and some water or carry me up to the house.”

“I suppose it would be quite a long way for someone who -”

She raises an eyebrow. “Someone who what, Darth Marr?”

“Someone who favors heeled shoes the way you do, of course,” he says, too blandly for that to be his first choice to finish that sentence. Kryn’s scowl says she knows it, too.

Zaasi pauses in the area between the first and second terraces, looking from Kryn to Marr and waiting until Kryn makes a _go on_ gesture. “The land already has natural escarpments separating the terraces; we'll reinforce them and add stairs, as well as a lift that can be remotely disabled by security if need be.” Another touch of a button and the second terrace enlarges. “The main focus of this terrace are the Kaas Estate House and the gardens; Rylin, go ahead.”

The Cathar steps forward. “Your gardens will be maintained by botanists selected by your appointed head horticulturist. I planned them to showcase the diversity of the Empire, including greenhouses and some climate-controlled conservatories.”

Vowrawn clears his throat, a knowing look on his face. “No, my friend, you can’t step down in order to be head horticulturist.” 

“It’s like he read your mind.” Kryn smirks, nudging Marr. “Not that he needed to; your whole face lit up.” 

“Are you two quite finished?” Marr grouses. “I’ve no doubt Lord Mis would like to continue.”

Rylin highlights several areas on the grounds. “Together the display will be both harmonious and eye-catching. Native broadleaf trees will shelter the paths from the worst of the rain, providing natural cover for visitors who wish to walk among the displays. Our provided supplemental information lists everything in the garden and where they’re from; this information will also be provided on plaques throughout the garden.” She indicates a back corner. “The staff quarters and military barracks are here, but the building will be designed with the surrounding architecture in mind and will be surrounded by trees so as not to distract from the garden.” She nods at Zaasi. “Back to you, Abada.”

“The Kaas Estate House is the diplomatic and social center of the compound,” Zaasi says, pulling the building front and center. “Four floors. Ballrooms, various dining rooms, tea rooms, salons. A music room. Conference rooms. Accommodations for diplomats and other distinguished visitors. The interior was designed by a colleague of mine and awaits your approval, but we’ll schedule that meeting if you approve our design for the estate.” 

Kryn’s face lights up. “That’s the most important part! That’s going to be so much fun.” She pauses, just long enough for Marr to know she’s about to needle him again. “I’ll handle that, as other parties will no doubt be busy counting all the defensive vantage points or something else equally dull.”

“We all must play to our strengths, Nox.” When _yes, and yours is being an astonishingly dull person_ doesn’t come out of her mouth, he raises an eyebrow. “No cutting rejoinder? Are you feeling well?”

A slow, deliberate smile curves her mouth. “You know what I’d say. No need.” 

Zaasi coughs, indicates the terrace. “This is as far as most people will ever go in the compound; beyond this is your private residence. There are two points of access to the Estate House from Tsyaira proper: a wide, engraved staircase traversing the escarpment, and a hidden access tunnel from a room in Tsyaira’s lowest level, allowing you to enter or leave the Estate House unseen.”

Another shift of the rendering, and a breathtaking five level house comes into sharp view, surrounded by meticulously kept grounds. “Before we get to the house itself, to your left you have the Imperialis headquarters, allowing them swift access to you, Tsyaira, and the rest of the estate. To your right is your private hangar; security measures dictate that all ships allowed to dock here will require a friend/foe transponder currently being developed by the Sphere of Technology. Access to Tsyaira from there is through a passageway in this wall here; aside from those of us in this room, the only others that will know that are those with whom you choose to share that information.”

This time, it’s Marr who nudges Kryn. “Look, you just got saved from all that walking.”

“And here I was hoping you’d just let me ride on your shoulders,” she says with an insincere pout.

Vowrawn presses a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “A little _decorum_ , please! That’s hardly an appropriate discussion for a work meeting.”

Confusion wrinkles Kryn’s forehead for a moment, before she presses her lips into a thin line and swallows laughter. “My, ah, apologies, Darth Vowrawn. I do hope I haven’t traumatized you.”

“I just prefer to be as professional as possible,” he says, haughty, nose in the air. “We have a particular image to cultivate, you know.”

Marr drums his fingers on the tabletop. “Zaasi?”

“From the entrance of the estate proper,” Zaasi continues, ruthlessly keeping a straight face, “Tsyaira will sit like a jewel in a crown, above everything else. Surrounded by Yaikish Wâshleq on three sides, it affords you privacy that you won't find anywhere else in the Empire. The only others that will have access will be your staff; we have set aside staff quarters on the topmost floor, but if you would prefer they stay in the main staff quarters on the second terrace, there is also a private passage from there to the third terrace.” 

She pulls out a sheet of the flimsy and slides it over. “Your suite comprises the entirety of the second floor, with living space, training and meditation areas, a study for each of you, a sizeable vault, and a small kitchen, to preclude unnecessary trips to the full size one in the sub-level.” Another sheet. “The main floor boasts an indoor garden, a music room, formal dining space, an extensive library, a gallery, a solarium overlooking Yaikish Wâshleq, an armory -”

Kryn nudges Marr. “A special room for your favorite length of chain!”

“Proficiency with improvised weapons is a critical skill,” he responds in the tone of one reciting lines from memory, “as we have previously discussed.” A pause. “On multiple occasions.”

She grins, undaunted. “Just admit you get a kick out of beating someone down with a chain.”

Marr still doesn’t look up from his study of the blueprint. “I’m sure that my pleasure at defeating opponents is scarcely a secret by this point in time. Indeed, seeking victory is, in case you’ve forgotten, one of the tenets of our order.”

“Stubborn.” Kryn smiles brightly at Zaasi. “Do continue. My apologies.”

Zaasi passes them two more sheets of flimsy. “The third floor is guest quarters, though if you don’t anticipate needing them we can of course repurpose the space, and the fourth is staff quarters and living space, should you elect to have them remain on site. It is spacious enough that their quality of life will not be overly impeded, as your distance from the city proper will likely preclude daily commutes.”

She resets the display for the entire compound, then takes a breath. “If you have any questions, I will do my utmost to answer them.”

“How long will it take to construct?” Marr asks, surveying the rendering.

Vowrawn clears his throat. “As there are no land disputes to wrangle before we get started, we can begin as soon as you give approval. We’re looking at maybe six months given the resources I’m able to pull from non-essential projects and the response we’ve already had from sphere-approved construction companies.” He considers. “Maybe eight, to be on the safe side.”

Kryn taps her chin. “It does give us enough time to properly plan a wedding, and then we can have it at the Estate House.”

Marr nods. “I find the combination of civic and private space to be quite well executed, and it’s not so far from the Capital District that we’ll be isolated.” He looks at Kryn. “Do you feel we need to look at any more designs? As I recall, this was the one that you favored.”

They’d spent the last week reviewing the slew of blueprints submitted in response to Vowrawn’s notice, and they’d agreed this was their top choice. Kryn shakes her head. “No. I quite like this one. If we are in agreement, let’s move forward.” She looks at Zaasi. “Can you set up the meeting with the interior designer? The sooner we have that decided, the better. We don’t want to hold things up.”

Zaasi and Rylin exchange a glance, then look back at Kryn and Marr. “You’re -” Zaasi closes her eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath, opens her eyes. “We are pleased that you have selected our proposal, my lords.” She focuses directly on Kryn. “It is truly an honor.” She clears her throat, turning to Vowrawn. “I will rearrange our schedule today, my lord. Shall we meet with you after this to finalize the details?”

“Yes. If you wish to make your way to my office now, my Second will get everything ready while I finish here.” Vowrawn smiles. “Congratulations.” Once the pair leave, excitedly talking, he turns to Marr and Kryn. “I still haven’t forgiven you for stealing my favorite conference room.”

Marr sighs. “The one two floors down is nicer than this one ever was, Vowrawn. How long do you plan on harping on this?”

“Until I get tired of your overly dramatic sighs, I suppose,” Vowrawn says blithely, standing. “I must admit, I was expecting more questions.”

Marr waves this off, and he and Kryn follow Vowrawn out of the office and into the hallway. “We thoroughly examined the set of blueprints she submitted. Her design was far and away the best for what the space should be, both for us and for the Empire.”

“Dull and workmanlike even when you’re Emperor.” Vowrawn chuckles. “Not everything always has to be about duty, you know, especially now. Relax. Pick a house because you _like_ it, not because it’s ‘what’s good for the Empire,’ or whatever you tell yourself.”

“On the contrary, it is particularly important to demonstrate that we will not repeat the mistakes of any who have come before.” Marr places his palm against the sensor pad next to the lift and waits for the chime. “Shirking duty now would be the gravest of errors.”

Vowrawn rolls his eyes and gives Kryn a look full of pity. “I don’t know how you stand it, my dear. We all thought he must have been hiding a personality, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

“I have enough personality for the both of us,” Kryn says, cheery. “Keep us informed?”

Vowrawn inclines his head as the lift arrives. “You know I will. Are you attending the Council meeting next week?” When Kryn nods, he smiles. “I’ll see you then, if not before.”

The lift doors close, and Marr gives Kryn a chiding look. “I have a personality.”

“Not at work you don’t.” She sweeps back into the office and activates her holocom. “Yoscas?”

“My lord?”

“Please inform Darth Otium that she may come up whenever she’s ready.”

Yoscas nods. “Yes, my lord.”

[3]  
Kryn and Marr are back at the conference table when Darth Otium steps through the door twenty minutes later. She slides a datacard to each of them, then inserts one into the slot on the table, waiting as a map of the galaxy activates. “Good afternoon, my lords. I won’t take up too much of your time, but we’ve been presented with an excellent diplomatic opportunity that you should be aware of.” Indicating each of the marked systems on the map, she then taps her own datapad. “I would like to suggest that the two of you undertake a tour of the Empire immediately following the wedding, as well as some outreach to a number of wavering worlds that might benefit from a visit.”

The highlighted systems are mostly border systems, ones where they’d made diplomatic overtures and not been outright rebuffed, but the system still hasn’t joined the Empire. “Some remain unconvinced that we are sincere in ending slavery. Some are unconvinced of the benefits they will gain if they join us. Some are simply outlying worlds that feel neglected, and it’s in our best interest to _not_ emulate the Republic in that regard.” She indicates the whole of the map. “Obviously, we cannot go to all of them unless you plan to be gone for quite some time, but I wanted to present you with a number to choose from.”

“First should be our allies,” Marr says. “If it can be arranged with the Ascendancy, they have been our allies since before the war.”

Otium makes a note. “Agreed. I will reach out to the embassy today.”

Kryn looks up from where she’s scrolling through the information on the datapad. “I have a suggestion for the last stop on this tour. I assume that the general order will be the Chiss, the Empire, and then the Hutts as we are technically allied with them but it is a new alliance?”

Otium nods.

“Then it would behoove us to reach out to our former enemies, would it not? Extend an invitation of peace, and a chance to show the galaxy that we, at least, are making a sincere effort at diplomacy.” Kryn makes no effort to hide her smirk. “Then Saresh either has to say no, which we can spin in our favor.” She affects a sorrowful, melancholy expression. “Our genuine overture rebuffed!” The melancholy vanishes, replaced by a mischievous grin. “Or she has to swallow her pride and do it, which will absolutely eat her up inside.”

Marr shifts to regard her. “You are aware that not all diplomacy is driven by making the target of said diplomacy squirm, yes?”

“But it’s so much more enjoyable when that’s a perk.” Kryn smiles at Otium. “What do you think?”

“It’s not … the worst idea. As you say, when she says no, we can twist that to our advantage, especially on worlds the Republic has a history of neglecting, something about how they don’t parley fairly with anyone or think they’re above such things.” Otium pauses, then chuckles. “And on the very small chance she says yes, you go to Coruscant and put the lie to the persistent story that we’re all horrible, cackling murderers.” She nods. “I like it, actually.”

Kryn stands. “I simply must know one way or the other. Let’s comm her now.”

“Now?” Marr can’t keep all the incredulousness out of his voice. “You want to comm Supreme Chancellor Saresh _now_. To ask if we can drop by for a visit.”

“The Councilor in charge of diplomacy is already here; we’re both here. We’ve agreed it’s a good course of action. No point in sitting around waiting.” She steps into an open area on the far side of the room, set aside for official holocommunications. “I assume we have the frequency for her office. What time is it there?”

Marr consults his datapad before dropping it onto the table and standing. “Morning. She ought to be there.” He shakes his head as he stops just off-center behind Kryn. “This could backfire.”

“Anything could backfire. If that was our guide we’d never do anything.”

Otium regards them both. “Are we ready?” When they nod, even though Marr’s is much more hesitant than Kryn’s, she activates the holocom and steps into place.

A Mirialan appears, looking at something away from the transmitter. “Supreme Chancellor Saresh’s office,” he says, distracted. “How may I assist you?”

“Good morning.” Otium folds her hands into her voluminous sleeves, a mirror of a Jedi stance. “I am Darth Otium, head of the Imperial Diplomatic Corps, and you may direct me to whomever I need to speak with in order to arrange a diplomatic visit to the Republic from the Emperor and Empress of the Sith. We would prefer to speak with the Supreme Chancellor directly, but understand if that is not proper protocol for the Republic.”

He nods. “Diplomatic visits are …..” He stops and looks over, mouth falling open as the whole of Otium’s speech finally registers. “ _Darth_ -” He swallows and tries again. “You want to -” After a moment of gawping like a plar fish, he shakes his head and forces his tone back to cheerful, albeit strained, politeness. “One moment please.”

When they’re placed on hold, Otium chuckles. “I thought he might actually transfer us without even looking, which would have been disappointing.”

“He did rally magnificently there at the end,” Kryn adds. “I was impressed.”

After a lengthy pause, the Mirialan comes back onto the line. “The uh … the Supreme Chancellor says that she will speak with you herself. One moment while I transfer you.” His hologram disappears, replaced in short order by Supreme Chancellor Leontyne Saresh, looking none too pleased, and Grand Master Satele Shan, looking considerably more surprised than Kryn’s ever seen her.

“Tell me why my clerk is spouting some nonsense about diplomacy?” Saresh snaps.

Otium hasn’t moved from her original stance. “It is not nonsense, Supreme Chancellor. The Empire, in a continued effort to move forward rather than backward, wishes to extend to you an invitation to meet, on reasonable terms, as part of the same outreach mission we are conducting within our borders and with our allies.”

The line falls silent.

“You are telling me that Sith want to come here for a _visit_?” Saresh finally says. “And you expect me to agree to this? Of all the -”

Satele clears her throat. “If I may?”

Saresh throws up her hands. “Why not?” 

Satele surveys the trio, her gaze coming back to the Nautolan. “I’m sorry; we haven’t been introduced. Perhaps you can catch me up on the situation at hand.”

“Of course, Grand Master. I am Darth Otium, Councilor of the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy. The Emperor and Empress will be conducting a tour of the Empire, as well as visiting our allies, and in the spirit of forging a more peaceful co-existence wished to make a diplomatic visit to the Republic, as well.”

One of Satele’s eyebrow twitches upward. “I see. And what are your conditions for -”

“No.” Saresh slaps the flat of her hand down on her desk. “I will not have it! This is utter madness!”

“Supreme Chancellor, perhaps -”

“No, Grand Master! We will not stand for -”

The holograms disappear.

Kryn fails in her desperate attempt to restrain her laughter. “That was even more of an overreaction than I was expecting,” she wheezes, dropping into a nearby chair. “You’d have thought we called and told her we were coming to conduct a second sacking, and could she please have tea ready for us when we arrive.”

“Now that your bit of absurdist theater is over, can we return to the task at hand?” Marr takes a seat next to Kryn and re-examines the map. “Depending on how many stops -”

Otium holds up a finger. “They’ll comm us back.”

“Do you think?” Kryn sits up, looking far too eager. 

Otium nods. “Even if for no other reason than you earned the respect of Shan for your work on Tython; she’s unlikely to let that sort of rudeness stand. Until then, however,” she continues, taking a seat at the table, “do you have suggestions for systems you’d like to add to the list?”

Marr indicates a number of worlds. “I would suggest these three border worlds here, this agrarian system, and a stop at at least two academies, in addition to whichever stops we have with the Chiss and the Hutts.”

“And the Republic,” Kryn adds, nudging him with her elbow.

He ignores this. 

“I concur with your selections,” Otium says after brief consideration. “Nox?”

Kryn, scrolling through the information on the datapad, looks up. “I don’t necessarily have suggestions for locations; I don’t spend all my time with my nose to a galaxy map. However, I _would_ suggest that instead of making each trip in the same standard ‘appropriately regal’ attire, we have something different for each that acknowledge the culture there, either through patterns or materials, cut and colors.”

“An excellent suggestion!” Otium makes a note. “I presume you have someone to coordinate this with? If you like, once we’ve made the final decisions, I can forward the necessary diplomatic dossiers to them and they can begin.”

Kryn nods. “Absolutely. I’ll send you Celinin’s information now.”

Otium’s message notification has just chimed when the holocom chirps. “I will be very surprised if this is not the Supreme Chancellor,” she says, standing. Once Kryn and Marr have arrayed themselves behind her, she activates the holocom.

Saresh, looking incredibly grumpy, appears. Behind her is Grand Master Shan, looking none too pleased herself. Saresh huffs a sigh. “I have … taken the guidance of Grand Master Shan under advisement, and wish to express that we are willing to accept the proffered -” Her upper lip curls toward a sneer for a brief second. “Diplomatic outreach.” 

“We are pleased to hear it,” Otium says graciously. “We -”

“However.” Saresh snaps up a hand. “There will be stipulations upon this visit that will be agreed to, or there will be no visit.”

Behind her, Satele closes her eyes, murmuring something to herself, then opens them, her face a mask of neutrality.

“You will be accompanied by Republic troops and a contingent of Jedi at all times. You will go nowhere unsupervised. Any and all personnel accompanying you will require a full dossier to be scanned by our security personnel, and they will not leave your ship.”

Behind Otium, Kryn discreetly nudges Marr with the side of her boot. _Perhaps we should offer to be escorted around in cuffs just to make her feel better._

_Do not suggest that; she’ll take you up on it._

Kryn’s cheek twitches. _I thought you liked the idea of cuffs._

_Not with Saresh watching._

“The only personnel requiring clearance will be the Emperor, Empress, and their personal guard. We -” Otium stops, turning as Kryn is overtaken by a sudden coughing fit. “Darth Nox?”

Kryn waves off her concern, avoiding looking at Marr and his expression of faux innocence. “I’m fine; please, continue. My apologies.”

“As I was saying, it will only be the Emperor, Empress, and their personal guard.”

Saresh’s eyes narrow. “All will be unarmed.”

“Preposterous,” Marr snaps, folding his arms. “Absolutely not.”

“Then we are at an impasse,” Saresh shoots back almost instantly, looking quite pleased with herself. “I tried, but you are unwilling to compromise. As I told you they would do, Grand Master.”

As Otium smiles, however, Saresh’s satisfied expression wavers. “It is a shame that the Republic is so quick to turn down diplomatic outreach,” Otium says, serene as can be. “We were hoping to build upon the alliance we’d started both on Yavin and on Ziost, where we were able to come together for the greater good, as Grand Master Shan no doubt remembers.”

Satele nods.

“Alas, it seems that the leadership of the Republic is not so advanced as that of the Empire, and we have no choice but to inform our people that you are uninterested in peace, and to remain wary of you.” A beat. “We are also sure the border worlds we have been talking to will be most interested to know that you reject out of hand any efforts to come to an accord.” 

She takes a step toward the transmitter. “As we are, as you say, at an impasse, we will not continue to waste your time. Supreme Chancellor, Grand Master, we bid you -”

“Wait.” Saresh is thin-lipped with anger, hands clasped so tightly that Kryn can see the strain in them. “I will -” She pauses, and after a moment the crease in her brow smooths out. “I will simply select a more elite guard to escort you,” she says politely, in a complete reversal of her prior tone. “Rather than leave it to my underlings to choose, I will personally select them.” A pause. “As is fitting visitors of your … stature.”

Otium gives her what Kryn has dubbed her Citadel Smile, the one that’s professional and proper but comes nowhere near her eyes. “As soon as I have a concrete date, I will contact your office with all pertinent details. Was there anything further?” When both women shake their heads, Otium nods. “I am gratified we could work past our differences. Until next time.”

She disconnects and turns. “It’s almost not enjoyable, being able to pull her strings so effortlessly.”

“Almost,” Kryn chortles. “ _Unarmed_. What a ridiculous notion. What would they do, sever us from the Force at the spaceport?”

Otium shakes her head. “Darth Marr’s reaction was precisely what she was expecting; you notice she didn’t even look surprised, and instead launched directly into her speech about how it was our fault it wouldn’t work out. Well done.”

“But she _didn’t_ expect you to turn that around on her,” Marr continues, “evidenced by her complete lack of a plan until after she’d already asked us to wait. She doesn’t prepare for all possible eventualities, as I’ve suspected for some time.”

Otium looks from her datapad to the map. “We’re agreed on stops, length to be determined by customs and courtesies at each stop as well as planned activities. I have your contact for the attire. Was there anything further we needed to discuss before I begin planning this tour?” Kryn and Marr exchange a look; Kryn shakes her head, and Otium bows. “I will send you regular updates; thank you for your time.”

Kryn stands. “I'll walk you out.” They pass through the office, and Kryn activates the lift. “Are we meeting at the usual time this Felday, Casra?” In the six months since the Council has been full, the alien Councilors have formed an impromptu social group, meeting every fifth Felday for drinks, dinner, and conversation, barring work obligations. “And where are we meeting?”

“My home this time. Kyla found some new recipes she's dying to try, and she's insistent on cooking for us,” Otium says with good-natured exasperation, “with promises that she'll leave us to our meeting no matter how many times I tell her she can stay. But yes, we'll meet at the regular time; I'm going to send a message about it when I get back to my office.” The lift arrives, though she pauses before stepping on, a mischievous set to her smile. “It will be exciting, the Empress gracing our humble group.”

“ _Humble_ group,” Kryn snorts, though Otium doesn't miss the uneasiness that flashes across the Miraluka’s features. “Just a group of the leaders of the Empire, of which I was a member until very recently. No big deal.”

Otium bumps Kryn’s shoulder with her own. “I think you still count as a leader; I'm pretty sure that's how promotion works. Besides, our group just wouldn't be the same without you there.” She smiles, then steps on the lift. “As soon as Kyla tells me what she needs, I'll let you know what to bring.”

When Kryn returns to the office, Marr is still reading at the conference table. “Adamas has selected a candidate for Imperialis commander. He's passed all early selection trials and is on his way up for his interview with us.”

Kryn sits, gives her empty caf cup a mournful look. “So much for caf. Or food,” she says with a sigh as her stomach growls. “I hate missing lunch.”

“I've already reserved a table for us at the Orchard for a late lunch once we conclude this interview.” Marr points to her datapad. “His dossier arrived just after you stepped out, if you want to review it.”

“As though you haven’t reviewed it enough for both of us already. Besides, this is your thing, isn’t it? I have _carpet_ to consider,” she says archly.

“Such pettiness is beneath you, not that that ever stops you,” he chuckles. “Shall I choose carpet while you evaluate military strength?”

She gives him a horrified look. “It would all be shades of blandness. Beige, probably!”

“I’m not a _Jedi_ ,” he exclaims with no small amount of offense. “I have no love affair with brown. Beige, of all things?” He stands and holds out his hand, pulling her to her feet when she takes it. “I'm sure this meeting will go swiftly; I trust Adamas’ selection process. She wouldn't send us someone unqualified. Shall we adjourn to the receiving room?”

They’ve just gotten comfortable when Yoscas steps through the door a few minutes later, pausing just inside the room and inclining his head. “My lords, General Andrus Hesker, commander of the Imperial Guard.”

Hesker strides past Yoscas, stops four steps from the dais, and immediately drops to one knee, head bowed. 

“Leave us.” Marr’s voice is loud in the near-empty room. Once Yoscas leaves, closing the door behind him, Marr sets his datapad aside. “Rise.”

Hesker does so, standing ramrod straight, staring past the two and out the window behind them in a picture-perfect position of attention. Only when he is commanded to be at ease does he relax his posture a bit, finally looking from Kryn to Marr as he clasps his hands behind his back. The faintest hint of a smile twitches the corner of his mouth when his gaze returns to Kryn. “Every time I see you, my lord, you have a new title.”

Kryn gives him a half-assed seated bow, amused. She’d served with Hesker twice - not to mention the brief but ardent romance - but they’d fallen out of contact recently, both busy with their respective responsibilities. “I don’t know how I’ll possibly top this one, though.”

“General Hesker, in light of your absolute devotion to the Empire and your record of flawless service, you have been recommended to become commander of the Imperialis. You have been apprised of the duties and responsibilities this will entail, including selection of personnel.” Marr reaches for his datapad, though he doesn’t read from it. “As I recall, you were instrumental in orchestrating the cleansing of the Guard when it was beset by traitors, correct?”

He nods once, crisply. “Yes, my lord. The Guard’s duty is not to one person, but to the Empire. Too many lost sight of that.”

“And the Imperialis?”

Hesker thinks for a moment. “It is the same, my lord. Serving the Emperor and Empress serves the Empire, but we will not protect treasonous actions.”

“Your background and exploits are well known. I have no further questions.” Marr looks to Kryn. “Darth Nox?”

Kryn considers. “Do you _want_ this position? Or did you feel obligated when asked?”

He mulls her question over. “The thought of turning it down never crossed my mind, true, but this was not out of a sense of obligation, but rather out of a sense of pride. It is my duty to serve the Empire, Darth Nox, but it is a pleasure to be considered worthy for this particular duty.”

“I have served with General Hesker, as you well know,” Kryn says, waiting for Marr to nod. “I have no doubts as to his capability to perform anything required of him by this post. He has my approval.”

“No doubt Darth Adamas is waiting for you,” Marr says. “Return to her and inform her that we endorse your selection. You will be entrusted with selecting Imperialis recruits and creating a training regimen for them. While the Guard is comprised solely of Force-blind individuals, this need not be the case for the Imperialis; I would indeed prefer some Sith be among its ranks.” A pause. “However, if you find none worthy, do not compromise standards.”

Hesker bows. “Yes, my lord. Do you wish to speak with all prospective members?”

“No. You are the commander; the success of this rests on your judgment.”

“Duly noted, my lord. I will keep you apprised of all developments. When I have the main corps of the Imperialis ready for inspection, I will notify you.”

Marr nods. “See that you do. Dismissed, General.”

Kryn waits until the door has closed behind Hesker to twist in her chair. “First, these chairs need cushions. That’s right on the top of the to-do list. Second, you said something about lunch?”


	60. A Tour of Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months have passed; plans for the royal wedding and subsequent tour of the Empire proceed apace. Darth Rictus visits the Emperor and Empress. Kryn and Marr visit a newly-completed Tsyaira.

[1]  
“No disruptions this morning. When Darth Rictus arrives, show him up immediately.”

Upon this pronouncement, Marr - who still hasn’t looked up from what he’s reading on his datapad - activates the lift and steps onto it, disappearing behind the closed doors.

Yoscas’ eyebrow twitches ever so slightly upward as he regards Kryn. “Darth _Rictus_ , majesty?”

Kryn, still looking at the lift, harrumphs. “Of course, Darth Marr, I’ll stay down here and handle everything else, you go on ahead.” She directs her attention to Yoscas, waiting to see if he asks the questions so clearly forming in his mouth. “Yes, Rictus will be coming by this morning, likely soon.”

After a brief internal battle, Yoscas nods slowly. “As … you say. Do we have an expected arrival time?” He thinks for a moment. “And is there any special protocol?”

“No on all counts. The Emperor and I are contacting him when we’re both in the office. As soon as I know, you’ll know.” Kryn steps toward the lift. “Please inform me of any issues.”

Yoscas nods, bows, and returns to his office. 

[2]  
“My lord, shall I accompany you?” Fal’rai, deeply suspicious, rests a hand on her lightsaber hilt. “They didn’t tell you anything?”

Rictus pulls the hood of his cloak over crepey, pale skin and a fall of fine white hair. “They are not required to, Second. And no, that won’t be necessary. While Marr is almost painfully direct, I doubt even he would go so far as to assassinate me at the pinnacle of the Citadel.”

“All the same, my lord, if your vitals monitor shows irregularity, I won’t stand idly by.”

The wizened man makes a sound that draws close to an approximation of a chuckle. “You are expecting far too much from this meeting. No doubt it is something far more banal than my usual activities.” Whatever sliver of geniality lingers in his voice vanishes. “You forget that I am prepared for every contingency, Second.”

“My lord.”

Fal’rai drops her eyes, staring her boots in a play at subservience, though she’s displeased and barely hiding it. Running through the best routes through the Citadel’s back passages, if Rictus were to hazard a guess. He expected no less, of course; a Second wholly dependent on orders is useless, and Fal’rai has proven his most capable Second of the many he's had over the years. 

“I will return shortly. Stay here.” There's a rumbling from the door behind Rictus. “If anything comes through that door, put it down before it can get any farther into the compound.”

[3]  
Kryn and Marr, seated on the far side of the conference table in their joint office, look up as one when the door opens. Yoscas steps through, stopping just past the threshold and executing a crisp, flawless bow. 

“Majesties. Darth Rictus, Councilor of the Sphere of Mysteries.”

Marr nods one time. “Dismissed, Chancellor.”

Rictus, his gait slow but sure, crosses the wide room and settles into the chair across the table. He pushes his hood back; under the lights his face is even more drawn, the blue of veins noticeable under his skin. “You wished to speak with me?”

“What does your sphere DO, Rictus?” 

This direct inquiry earns Kryn a stare equal parts shocked and annoyed. “Excuse me?” 

“What, exactly, is the Sphere of Mysteries in charge of?” She leans back in her chair, arms folded across her chest. “No one seems to know… not even Vowrawn, who makes it his business to know everything.”

“It wasn't his concern.”

Kryn considers. “A valid point, but I think we can all agree that it most certainly is my concern, and Marr’s. Now, I would prefer that this morning’s talk be more conversation than inquisition, but that decision rests entirely with you, Rictus. So again I ask, what is it your sphere does? What is your overarching mission? What do you contribute to the Empire?”

Rictus turns to Marr, protest already beginning to form on his pallid lips. The days of Marr’s continued irritation at Nox’s meddlesome nature - expected from one of her upbringing, of course, but nonetheless grating - are not so far behind them as to be forgotten. Surely, Marr will see the wisdom in not going around poking one’s nose where one isn’t needed.

Marr holds up a hand, forestalling whatever Rictus is about to say. “I would know the answer to this, as well.”

“I didn’t take you for a meddler, Marr. You haven’t cared in the four decades you’ve been on the Council.” Rictus’ glance shifts to Kryn, just for a moment, before returning to Marr. “Interesting that you care now.”

“This disingenuousness doesn’t suit you, Rictus. In those four decades I was not emperor. In those four decades, my concern was my sphere and its workings. However, having been elevated beyond that position by vote - a vote in which you participated, I might add - it is now my duty to broaden my scope of the functioning of the Empire, a task that is insurmountable when I know less about an entire sphere of my government than I do about Satele Shan’s tea preferences.” 

Kryn raises an eyebrow.

A sigh. “Yavin.”

“Ah.” She nods sagely. “What is it?”

“No.”

“Spoilsport.”

“My lords.” Rictus sighs, pulls a sleek datapad out of an unseen pocket in his robes, ejects a card, and hands it to Marr, who slides it into a slot on the table. Upon activation, Rictus moves through the data until he finds something resembling an organizational chart. 

“As you are already aware, the Umbral knights fall under my purview.” He indicates an offshoot from the main area. “We also conduct experiments into forgotten incantations -”

“That should be _my_ sphere.” Kryn pauses. “My former sphere.”

“And research into the nature of the Force itself. We have an intelligence arm -”

Marr sits forward, peering at the chart. “You have an entire shadow government here, Rictus. Every sphere is covered. Intelligence. Sith knowledge. Finances.” He deactivates the display. “Explain. Now.”

Rictus shakes his head. “This is how the sphere was when I took over. From my reading, this was Vitiate’s doing, has always been his intent. Even in the early purges, the councilors for this sphere escaped unscathed - or mostly unscathed. I was not randomly chosen; Vitiate’s servants knew _everything_ about me before I was selected.” 

“And you felt this wasn’t our business because?” Each word is ice as Marr glowers at the elderly councilor. “Indeed, this is _entirely_ our business. We appear to have come into a second government, Darth Nox. How fortuitous; most rulers only get one.”

Kryn inspects the caf in her cup, deep in thought. “It’s a way to keep an eye on your councilors. I imagine that comes in handy if you’re wanting to make sure that you don’t get overthrown. None of them are so high that they draw suspicion to themselves, but have them high enough that they know what’s going on, and then you have a continuous feed of information, eliminating surprises from any corner.”

“Obviously, we’re disbanding this nonsense,” Marr says with finality.

“Are we?” Kryn regards him curiously. “Without seeing what information is provided, how they work, anything? This sphere has been around from the beginning, and has yet to undermine anyone - “

“That we know of.”

“Fair point. But we would be wiser to get examples of information provided, and see how this sphere could be made to serve us, rather than simply getting rid of it.” She looks back to Rictus. “So you’re an information broker.”

“Not a broker,” Rictus retorts, surprisingly vehement. “I do not sell our secrets, nor divulge them to those who have no need to know of them. Whether or not you believe it, Darth Nox, I _do_ serve the Empire.” He stops, draws a slow, deep breath. “I am an aggregator, which is precisely what I was instructed to be. We haven’t heard from Vitiate in years, Marr, as you well know. I compile my reports and continue with my research. The sphere has practically handled itself since our former emperor saw fit to remove himself from actual governance.” 

Marr looks from Rictus to Kryn and back. “We will have reports issued at whatever interval you compile them, of all information. If there is something we decide we don’t need, we will inform you, though you will continue to collect it in aggregate until otherwise commanded.” He ignores how Rictus’ eyes narrow at that last word. “You are now demonstrating to me the continued need for your sphere, Rictus. I would suggest the demonstration be particularly enlightening.” 

Marr, as long as Rictus has known him, always has been afflicted with a particularly rigid view of Sith honor, and now that attention is laser-focused on Rictus’ sphere? 

Perhaps it’s time.

“There is another matter I would bring before you.”

Marr nods.

“I find myself growing weary of politics as of late,” Rictus continues. This isn't entirely a lie. “As each of my predecessors before me, I have spent a fair amount of time searching for and selecting a replacement. I wish to submit her name and step down, so that I might spend my remaining time continuing my research at my estate.”

Marr and Kryn exchange a long look. 

“It is your prerogative to step down if you so choose,” Marr finally says, “per the regulations. Very well. Do you have a dossier assembled, or do we need one from Intelligence?” 

Rictus navigates through the datacard’s contents. “I assume I still retain the authority to name my successor?” This is perhaps more tart than it should be, not that anything can be done about it now. “I've been watching her career for some time, since her singlehanded destruction of a major SIS operation on Corellia some three years back. I have been impressed with her tactical acumen, as well as her thoroughness and discretion. 

“Hmm.” Marr peruses the file. “Darth Envisaar. Currently -” He stops, looks over as Kryn is overtaken by a coughing fit. “Nox?” 

Kryn waves him away. “Sorry, sorry.” She motions at her untouched water glass. “Don't breathe and drink water at the same time. Do continue.”

Is that a _blush_ on her cheeks? Curious. 

“You’re set on this course of action, Rictus?”

It’s unnerving, being unable to accurately suss out Marr’s tone. “Yes.”

“Very well.” Marr taps a button, waits. 

After a significant pause, Vowrawn answers the holocom, smoothing his hair back. “I … wasn’t aware I should expect a call, my friend,” he says, slightly out of breath. An obstinate lock of hair falls back over his forehead. “What can I do for you?”

“As leader of the Council, it’s your duty to -” This time it’s Kryn’s muted chuffing noise that draws his attention. “ _Yes_ , Nox?”

Her lip quivers; she presses her mouth into a thin line and takes a deep breath, even as she notices Vowrawn’s minute shake of his head.

Marr drums his fingers on the tabletop. “May I proceed?”

She nods, waving a hand at the holocom.

“Darth Rictus has informed us he is stepping down. He has already chosen a replacement, as is his right by the tradition of the Sphere. Call a Council meeting at your earliest convenience - the sooner the better - and interview his selection, then seat her.”

Vowrawn looks up from where he’s taking notes on a datapad. “Are you and the empress attending?”

“We’ll make the time.”

“Tomorrow morning, first thing? Unless I’m misreading the calendar everyone should be here.”

Marr nods, already reaching for the button. “Good. As you were. We - Nox, what is so damn _amusing_?”

“Nothing!” She makes no attempt this time to hide her laughter. “Tomorrow morning, got it. Already added it to the calendar and Cui has already verified it. Let the man get back to … whatever he was doing.” 

Marr taps the button, turns back to Rictus. “I assume Fal’rai is not staying on, given her loyalty to you.”

“Likely.” Rictus slides his chair back. “With your leave, I will return to my compound and send you the first report, then finish any outstanding affairs with the sphere and set things in motion for the next Councilor.”

“Go.”

Rictus stands, bows, and departs.

“Get it out of your system, Marr,” Kryn says, swiveling her chair to look at the still-glowering man next to her. His brusqueness throughout the entire meeting has been a dead giveaway. “I can tell you have something to say.”

“We either trust our councilors, or we don’t. Spheres have clearly delineated lines, and now we discover that one’s entire mission is to spy on the rest?”

Kryn shakes her head. “Marr, you were on the Council for a fair number of years. You’ve seen councilors come and go. Are you telling me that you can’t understand why this sort of thing would be helpful?”

“Vitiate simply used it for his own ends.” Marr’s lip curls in distaste. “I will not follow in his footsteps.”

“No one says we have to use it the way he did, but it’s asinine to willingly surrender sources of information. The sphere has potential, especially if its new Councilor more closely aligns with our aims.” Kryn raises an eyebrow. “But I know you know this.” 

He says nothing.

“Like I said. I know you know this.” She stands, grabs her cup, and pauses next to him long enough to kiss his cheek. “Either the information is useful, or we restructure the sphere. It’ll be fine.” She picks up her datapad. “And we get to get out of the office today! Are you ready to go?”

“I -” Something nags at the back of his mind. “Oh. Do you know Envisaar?”

Kryn studies her nails and doesn’t immediately answer.

“I assume that’s a yes, but your sudden reticence has piqued my curiosity, Kryn.” Marr tilts her chin upward. “Do tell.”

She scowls. “That afternoon that that very enterprising photographer caught me _gawking_ at the Orchard?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Kryn scuffs her toe against the floor. “Envisaar,” she mutters. “I've followed her public-facing career - fashion - for some time, and she has an effortless presence I admire. That’s all.”

Marr doesn’t quite manage to swallow his laughter, and it only gets worse when Kryn glares at him. “At least try to pay attention in the meeting tomorrow, _qilitzarai_. Or at least remember to close your mouth.” He really should stop. _Should._ “Barring that, you do have some lovely decorative full face helms that would allow you to gawk to your heart’s content.”

“Hush.” She swats at his arm. “I don’t need any sass from _you_.”

“I’m simply saying I have decades of experience enjoying the fact that no one can see the face I’m making.” He stops her by the door, bending to kiss her. “And on the contrary,” he murmurs, “I don’t think you get enough sass from me.” Another kiss. “Luckily for you, I find sass tiring.”

“And yet you still spend so much of your time with so many mouthy people,” she says, grinning, before going on tiptoe to kiss him again. “Such a dilemma.”

[4]  
Moisture from an earlier shower clings to trees and grass and flowers, keeping the air blissfully cool as the Imperialis assembles for its final inspection. Though issued a full complement of various armors, all by Talieste Laigoss, armorer to none other than the Emperor and Empress themselves, for today’s official presentation to the rulers of the Empire every member is decked out in formal dress, complete with cape. Designed for guard duty, official visits, and events at Tsyaira or the Kaas Estate House, where the Imperialis will be utilized in a more ceremonial capacity, the chestplates are etched with a striking silver design, matching the silver buckles and clasps.

At the front of the formation stands Imperialis Commander Andrus Hesker, rank denoted by a crimson slash etched into his breastplate above his heart. He casts a critical eye over the assembled men and women, more than a few bearing reminders of their final combat trials before their official assignment to the Imperialis.

Hesker, formerly the commander of the Imperial Guard, had taken the traitors within that body to heart, and his trials for aspiring Imperialis members – Force sensitive and not - are among the toughest in the Empire, a fact he’s quite proud of. They are trained in single combat, group combat, ground and air maneuvers, assassination protocols, as well as state ceremony and official functions; because of this, standing before him is the most elite fighting corps within their borders, all sworn to the utmost loyalty to the Empire they serve, and her rulers.

Far from demanding unthinking automatons, Hesker had placed great emphasis on understanding the difference between loyalty and blind servitude, and in having the integrity to put the Empire above a ruler who might one day not have the Empire’s best interests at heart. He doesn’t expect such things from Darth Marr and Darth Nox, of course, but it’s important to establish such things early on, so by the time it does happen – though he hopes it never will – the Imperialis will act without a second thought, securing the Empire before it’s forced to suffer another Vitiate.

The barest hint of a pleased smile touches his lips.

“Commander Hesker.”

Hesker touches the small device in his ear. “Report.”

“Emperor and Empress are inbound via the front of the compound.”

“I’m sure they want to walk the grounds. No need to intercept them. You’re already at your posts; keep eyes on just as you would any other time they’re here. I don’t anticipate trouble, but we’ll remain vigilant.”

A pause. “Shall we inform them the Imperialis are standing by?”

“No. Just inform _me_ when they’re departing the second terrace so I can get everyone back into formation.”

“Commander.”

[5]  
Kryn steps out of the speeder, then meets Marr behind it, looking around as they begin making their way toward the main path. “What a perfect day for this.” She runs her hand along the base of one of the statues of the councilors - Lana, the slight curve in her mouth rendered beautifully in Kaasian marble. “Are they redoing these every time we get a new one?”

“I believe that’s the intent.”

“Interesting. Shall we?” She surveys the graveled path, considers. “Are we on any sort of timetable?”

He smiles down at her. “I believe that we make our own timetable, Empress.”

“Oh!” She grins widely. “Finally coming around to my way of thinking?”

“I simply don’t wish to pass up an opportunity to spend time alone with you, given how much of our days are taken up by this and that ceremony, this and that meeting, this and that social function.” He holds out his arm. “I do want to inspect the defensive elements as we go.”

Kryn smothers a chuckle, looping her arm around his and resting her hand on his gauntlet. “Of course you do. Let’s go look at your guns and such.”

They cross the broad inlaid avenue that bisects the estate; the memorials, walls displaying an ever-shifting roster of names of those Imperials who gave their lives for the Empire, line the winding pathways on this lowest terrace. A towering wall of greenery conceals the fence between the common area and the defense compound, holding a veritable battalion of both ground and air combat vehicles.

Corporal Destmar, reminding himself yet again that crushingly boring gate duty isn’t permanent on this assignment, is gazing rather vacantly toward the upper levels of the estate when a rustling from the bushes catches his attention. Having already been the butt of three practical jokes as one of the lowest ranking members of the Tsyaira detachment, this time he’s not going to fall for it.

“All right, you fuckers, it’s not going to work this time!” he barks. “You might have gotten me the last two times, but now it’s broad daylight and it’s not like I’m some –“

From around the side of the shrubbery step the emperor and empress, and the entirety of Destmar’s military life briefly flashes before his eyes as he immediately snaps into a deep bow. “Majesties! I, uh – I was – that is – aw, _fuck_.”

“Compose yourself, Corporal.”

The corporal snaps his mouth shut, back ramrod straight, staring just past Marr, and it’s all Kryn can do to suppress her amusement. Even when he’s not trying, Marr just sounds generally brusque, like whatever has his attention is an annoyance at best, and that coupled with his fearsome reputation means that most Imperials give him the sort of wide berth usually reserved for angry nexu, while those that find themselves the object of his undivided attention appear to be seeing their impending death.

“We’d just like to take a quick look around while we’re familiarizing ourselves with the estate,” Kryn says, much more cheerfully. “Make our presence known.”

“Yes, majesties. Of course, majesties.” Destmar touches his ear. “Captain, the emperor and empress are at the gate and wish to tour the compound.”

Kryn leans toward Marr. “We ought to have code names. I hear the SIS give each other code names.”

“We are not the SIS.”

“But code names are exciting.” Honestly, just once she’d like him to have a little bit of fun with his unlimited power, even something as simple as having code names, but he’s so bent on being the model Sith that she can’t even cajole him into that. “After the moons? How about Asha and Bogan? That would be good. Oh! You could be –“

Corporal Destmar clears his throat. “Majesties, if you’re ready? Captain Braare is here to conduct your tour.”

[6]  
The wide staircase ends on the second terrace, a lush, verdant garden surrounding the elegant Kaas Estate House, and Kryn gasps as she takes it in. “Look at this!”

Gravel walkways, similar to the first terrace, wind their way through the gardens, with byways to allow people room to step off the main thoroughfare in order to read about each of the carefully cultivated displays, showcasing flora and fauna from across the Empire. Flowers are riots of color among the green, most in full bloom, some in greenhouses and some out in the open. When Tsyaira is open to the public, the gardens will draw Imperials from far and wide, a focal point of the already gorgeous estate.

An attendant approaches, stopping at a properly respectful distance and bowing. “Majesties, welcome to the gardens. We hope you’ve been pleased thus far. I am Acama Nese; Seneschal Heranse wished me to meet you and convey that the staff of the Estate House are ready for inspection at your leisure.”

The togruta is doing an admirable job of disguising her unease, which is more than Kryn can say for a lot of Imperials in the past few months, and she smiles brightly. “Thank you very much. If you could let Senechal Heranse know that we’ll be along after we take in some more of this truly breathtaking garden? The emperor has quite the fondness for horticulture and wants to see the different varieties showcased here.”

“Of course!” She bows again, then hazards a bit of a smile in Kryn’s direction. “My favorite is the upper right corner. Some of our most dramatic flowers are there, like the nyssari.”

Marr’s eyebrow twitches oh so slightly upward. “That’s the engineered Murakami, yes? Not Force sensitive, but delicate nonetheless. They found proper growing conditions?”

“Yes, my lord. It’s in its own enclosure with a trio of companion plants, very carefully climate engineered, but our lead horticulturist, Darth Qeh, says that it’s flourishing. On our rare sunny days, you can see just the barest hint of violet in the petals; the rest of the time, it’s black as space.”

Kryn looks up at Marr, knowing the answer before she asks the question. “Would you like to go see it before we tour the Estate House?”

“I would. I’m curious which companion plants they got to take. Normally, the nyssari tends to leech nutrients, limiting the plants that can tolerate it.”

He’s already looking toward that corner of the garden, and Kryn chuckles. “You may want to advise the seneschal we’ll be a few minutes.”

“If you wish, I can inform the seneschal remotely and accompany you through the garden, as my current assignment at the Estate House is to provide tours and information within the gardens.”

To Kryn’s surprise, Marr considers and then nods. “Yes, that would be acceptable. “

It’s a short walk to the nyssari, filled with Acama’s easy chatter about the various trees, vines, and flowers they pass. She slows, then stops in front of a wide transparisteel enclosure. Tendrils creep away from the nyssari, loosely curled around the other plants within the enclosure and making their way up the transparent walls. The flower itself is much larger than Kryn was anticipating, its petals near-black in the afternoon light, though she notices if she turns her head _just_ so, she can see the faintest sheen of violet along the edges. 

Marr and Acama are still talking technicalities, discussing soil composition and the traits of the companion plants, leaving Kryn to her own devices.

The last existing Murakami orchid was destroyed in Darth Scabrous’ ill-fated grasp at immortality, dissolved in the concoction he’d created from an ancient Sith text, and even that one had been stolen from a Jedi horticulturist. The Empire has a lookalike in the nyssari, and the more gullible claim that it has all the same traits as the original Murakami; some even go so far as to claim that its petals are a hallucinogenic that will inevitably show you the path to true power, but the Empire has never been short of people more willing to look for shortcuts than to improve themselves.

A Force-sensitive flower, though? One that would communicate with its caretaker? Kryn had read what information they had in the archives about the Murakami with great interest, had _almost_ considered reaching out to Satele Shan to see if they had another they just hadn’t mentioned. She reaches out for the case, laying her palm on the near-invisible enclosure, hoping that she sees a tendril move.

She can’t help her sigh of disappointment when it doesn’t.

Marr turns from his conversation, eyeing Kryn for a long moment. “ _Qilitzarai_ , you know it’s not a Murakami.”

“It could have evolved,” she says, not looking away from the plant. “Maybe it just needs some encouragement.”

Acama has been observing this exchange, and Marr turns to her. “If by some miracle you see any change on that front, I wish to know immediately.” A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth as he watches Kryn, still speaking softly to the transparisteel. “The empress would be pleased.”

“Yes, my lord. Of course.” She pulls out a datapad, fires off a message. “You’ll be meeting Darth Qeh at the Estate House, so you can reiterate any other instructions you may have, but she has been made aware of your directive regarding the nyssari.”

Marr touches Kryn’s shoulder. “If you’re done trying to get the flower to talk to you, we can continue. We still have the Estate House, Tsyaira proper, and the Imperialis inspection.”

[7]  
The Kaas Estate House functions as the social center of Tsyaira, with public access areas, a large ballroom, and suites for visiting dignitaries. With a present and active emperor and empress - and an Empire more interested in diplomacy than war - the Estate House fills a need as yet foreign to the Empire: outreach and civility. It is here that they will host and entertain delegates from a plethora of worlds, here that they will host the leaders within their own borders, strengthening the ties that bind the Empire together.

It rises four stories above the garden, surrounded by a spacious canopied veranda. It is designed for maximum light and the best views afforded her visitors; the top floor ballroom, spreading out below a wide curving staircase, boasts floor to ceiling windows, a gorgeous inlaid floor of Wayland marble, rich tapestries from craftsmen across the Empire. The focal point of the room is the raised dais, bearing two elegantly carved thrones, behind which are draped plush swaths of black fabric; these can be pulled aside to offer yet another view out of the wide windows they’re covering.

Low murmurs fill the grand foyer, where the Estate House staff mills about in anticipation of the royal visit. _Have you met either of them_ in one group, answered by mostly headshakes and one nod from a slight woman, which grabs the group around her.

"You have?"

Another nod. "They came on one of the days that I had a shift helping with room setup, maybe a month ago?" she says into a surprisingly quiet moment, pulling the attention of more people to her. "It was one of the few times they've come without anyone else." The crowd shifts and reforms, and suddenly the woman finds herself the center of attention, and she fidgets.

"What are they like?"

She shrugs. "We didn't exactly socialize much." A chuckle. "Darth Marr is scary in person, too. He just seems vaguely ... dissatisfied with everything, though that may just be his face." She stops, grimaces, looks around. "Not that that's bad! He's just ... definitely more intimidating than her." She thinks for a moment. "Darth Nox doesn't seem like what you'd picture an empress to be like. She's _chatty_." Her forehead wrinkles as she thinks. "I'd have expected more aloof, especially with how Marr is, but she asked me how I liked the job, if I had suggestions, if I needed anything."

"She what?"

She nods. "If I needed anything. I didn't even know what to say. What do you tell a darth who asks you if you need anything, let alone the _Empress_? But then she and the Emperor went on their way, and that was it."

Sensing that the most interesting gossip has passed, the large group breaks into smaller ones just as easily as it came together, the topic of conversation still the new heads of the Empire, until the seneschal, Lola Heranse, clears her throat and raises her hands. Everyone stills, turning to look toward the front of the room.

"The Emperor and Empress are en route to the Estate House. Darth Nox requests that you not stand around waiting for them, but that you continue to press toward mission accomplishment and they will come around to each area."

[8]  
Marr, datapad in hand, is murmuring security minutiae with the seneschal as Kryn slips through a side door. She plucks the slim, sparkling crown out of her hair, sliding it into a specially designed pocket on her cape, then whisks that off as well, draping it over one arm; her black armor is elaborate on close inspection, but can pass for something less Sith-like if she's not inspected too closely.

The passageway winds through the Estate house, allowing servants and staff to pass swiftly and unseen. She grins as she notices a small tag next to one door - _Kitchen_ \- and steps through. A lively game of some sort is playing out at the large staff table in the corner, and only a couple of people look at her as she comes fully into the room, shutting the door behind her.

[9]  
Govo Kembini, head of the kitchen staff, looks over as the side door closes behind a red-haired Miraluka. He can't immediately place her, but the Estate House staff _is_ quite large, and has only been working together as a full team for a couple of weeks. She's got a cape draped over one arm; she must be one of the botanists they have on garden duty, no doubt coming in for a quick bite and a drink while the emperor and empress are otherwise occupied in the Estate House itself rather than outside. Hopefully her name comes to him; until it does, he’ll just have to stall. "Lunch is on the sideboard," he says, pointing. "Don't know where you're at today, or if the royals have made it around to your section, but it's there if you have time."

She inspects the spread, smiling self-consciously when her stomach rumbles audibly. She picks up a sandwich and comes to stand beside him. "Who's winning?"

“Luntim and Navae are playing, and -” Kembini inspects the table for a moment. The two are engaged in a tense, heated pazaak game, though the Miraluka must be barely able to see it given her height. "Luntim for now."

"But he has a tendency to go bust," someone else adds. "We'll see if he's learned his lesson this time."

As predicted, Luntim goes bust, tossing his cards and a credit chip onto the table with a disgusted sigh. "That's it, I'm out."

Govo smiles down at the Miraluka. "You have time to play before you have to get back to work? We're just using the two decks we keep here for breaks."

The winner, a Zabrak with a single ponytail on top of her head and intricate tattoos spanning her face, gives her a quick once-over, then grins. "I'll go easy on you."

While the Miraluka had been looking like she was going to demur, this taunt from Navae abruptly changes her mind. "Let's go. Cards?"

Everyone shuffles around for her to get to the chair, and she scrutinizes the deck, shuffling through the cards and sighing when she doesn't find what she's looking for. "Do you take card donations? I'll have to kick in some of my extras." Once she has her deck, she laces her fingers together and eyes her opponent. "You can go first," she says with an air of imperiousness, amid much laughter. "After all, I should go easy on you."

Little by little, the room falls silent as they play, and there's an audible gasp when the Miraluka, sitting at 18, reaches for a card. She grins widely. "She's still ahead of me and I don’t have anything useful. Let's just see what happens." She pauses when there's a sound across the room, hand still on the pazaak card. The main door opens, and in walks Seneschal Heranse and Darth Marr.

As one, the group maneuvers so they can all bow. Govo steps forward. "Majesty. Seneschal. We didn't know you were coming."

Marr waves this off. "It's not a formal inspection. We're simply visiting each area of the Estate House." _And looking for Darth Nox_ , he doesn't add. "We didn't intend to interrupt your game."

"Oh, it's no -"

Marr peers more closely at the players, including one particularly short, flame-haired Miraluka. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised to find her here, really. " _Qilitzarai_ , this is where you've been all this time? We’ve conducted half the tour of this floor without you."

Everyone turns to look at the Miraluka, who shrugs, grinning. "I told you that security stuff was putting me to sleep."

Navae stares open-mouthed. "Empress Nox!"

Kryn flips the card, groaning when it's a +4. "Damn. I knew I shouldn't have used that +2 earlier." She pulls a credit chip out of her pocket. "Good game." Leaning forward, she cups a hand around her mouth, though she doesn't make much of an effort to lower her voice. "Darth Marr hates pazaak, so I never get to play."

"I can't possibly take that, Majesty." Navae says, pushing the credit chip back toward her.

"You won." Kryn pushes it back toward her. "I'm afraid I'm quite incapable of taking no for an answer sometimes, Navae."

Govo clears his throat. _Must be one of the garden tour guides_ , he remembers thinking, groaning inwardly. One of the garden tour guides, indeed. He’ll be studying that personnel roster a lot more closely this evening, that’s for sure. "Majesty, I do hope you forgive my not immediately knowing who you were."

She gives him a curious look. "What’s there to forgive? I didn't precisely come in here wearing a crown and announcing myself, did I? And we haven't met before now. I was perfectly happy to remain anonymous. It was, in fact, quite the deliberate choice on my part."

"Is, ah ... this a thing you do often, Majesty?"

Kryn eyes the group; the fact that there's far more trepidation on their faces now doesn't escape her, and it takes no small amount of willpower to refrain from sighing. This happens everywhere - the Citadel, out in the city, and now here. She doesn't know how Marr can stand it, these looks of near panic. "I would like to, but I won't if it makes everyone uncomfortable."

Govo nods. "We can adapt.” He surveys the rest of the staff. “Can't we?"

Slowly but surely, heads nod among the group, though Kryn wonders how much of that is genuine, and how much is simply _doing what the Empress commands_. Maybe it will get better with time.

She hopes it will. 

She stands, this time settling her cape around her shoulders and extracting the small diadem from its pocket. "I was serious about the cards; I have quite a few duplicates that I don't need, and they may as well get used. I'll have them sent over as soon as I find which box I stored them in."

"Thank you." This time Govo smiles. "We're never going to hear the end of this from Navae."

Navae picks up the credit chip, rolls it between her fingers with glee. "Damn right you aren't."

[10]  


"Commander, Security Post Nern. They've just left the Estate House, bound for Tysaira."

"Excellent."

[11]  
Originally, the outer walkway to Tsyaira was supposed to be a light bridge, doubling as both pathway and evening attraction. This plan was scrapped when the Empress made it abundantly clear that nothing could convince her to set another foot on one of those things after Makeb, no matter how pretty they were, and thus it is that the staircase to Tsyaira proper is wide, easing upward with shallow steps, engraved in the Kisagist style with stories from the Empire's history. The steps end at the green expanse in front of the massive house, its boundaries marked by native trees and shrubberies, the greenery around the meticulous grass giving the impression of natural wild growth while being carefully maintained.

In striking contrast to the verdant green, the Imperialis stands tall and unmoving in crimson and black, their commander at their head. Each holds the primary weapon they are assigned, staring straight and unseeing at the terraces laid out below them.

"What an excellent job Talieste did, not that I expect any less from her," Kryn murmurs as they cross toward Hesker. "These are their dress uniforms? I assume so, because of the capes."

Marr nods. "For ceremonial duties, mostly, where we're expected to have flair with our show of force."

"You must be the only Sith who doesn't like flair," Kryn chuckles. "Which certainly is odd, given how you've chosen to armor yourself these past decades."

The sound he makes lands somewhere between disgusted and exasperated. " _Capes_."

This time Kryn laughs outright, though she immediately assumes a mostly-serious expression as they come to a stop in front of Hesker. "Good afternoon, Commander."

"Majesties." Hesker executes a crisp bow. "Presented for your inspection and approval are the Imperialis, the most highly trained fighting force in the Empire. Standing head and shoulders even above the Imperial Guard, they are well versed in all manner of duties, weapons, and situations. They are utterly devoted to the Empire."

The choice of words doesn't elude Marr. He makes a silent note to commend Beniko on her choice for commander.

"Two of the Imperialis will be assigned to you at all times," Hesker continues, pausing only briefly as Marr’s eyes narrow slightly. "You may choose if you wish, though I have suggestions. They will not follow at your heels like akks, but their duty is to keep eyes on you, to be aware of threats before you are, especially during public appearances."

With effort, Marr quashes a scowl. Is this what his life has come to? Babysitters half his age, sitting at pointless dinners, pretending to care about all this social nonsense he’s quite ably avoided the last four decades?

Kryn lays a hand on his gauntlet. _Name one other person you’d trust to do what has to be done as Emperor._

_Besides you?_

_Of course._

She swallows a laugh when he doesn’t respond this time. 

Sometimes, it’s just _obnoxious_ when she’s right. 

“Very good, Commander,” Marr finally says. “We would meet the two you’ve selected first for whatever you’re calling this guard duty.”

Kryn inhales slowly in the increasingly muggy air, sure she can feel her hair frizzing. “Perhaps we can speak with them as we see the house? I’ve no doubt the commander wishes to see his troops back to work, rather than having them standing around gathering dust in our front yard.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Belated, Beloved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408724) by [Fumm95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95)




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